


The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde

by Sir_RedFox



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_RedFox/pseuds/Sir_RedFox
Summary: In this Wild West Tale there are only three types of mammals: The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde. Tag along in this Western Tale of Zootopia.Hopps Ranch are on hard times in the Wild West. The farm facing foreclosure by the bank, after Judy's father falls ill. All seems lost, till she finds a wounded slick talking Fox on the Ranch, named Nick W., with a bounty on his capture. Judy believes bringing Nick to justice and collecting the bounty, she can save the Farm. But she better hurry fast, because a crooked Law Mammal is on their tale, and he's not letting any mammal get in the way of what he whats. Along the way, they discover that they are deeper motives in their lives. All coming to an end with all three having the biggest showdown in the center of Zootopia.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

##  **Ch. 1, Thy Father's Responsibilility:**

_ "You think I'm brave because I carry a gun?! _

_ No! _

_ Your Fathers are brave because they carry Responsibility!" _

_ \- The Magnificent Seven, 1960 _

High above in the sky's center, the blazing sun beats down on the land, not a single cloud in the sky to provide some form of shade. Despite the heat, the area was not barren; fields of yellow oats, that move like waves as the wind blows, the colors of yellow, pink, and white buds blooming in the trees, and lush green forest in the distance, frolicking all forms of life.

Stu Hopps sits on the wooden wagon, holding the reins to their draft horse, Bruce, pulling the cart down the trail to Zootopia. Bruce was one of two horses the Hopps’ owned; well, three actually, after finding out that their Arabian mare, Gracia, to be expecting. The Hopps, seeing this a good thing, having more horses to contribute to more work.

Stu and Bonnie's oldest child, six-year-old Judy Hopps, jumped with excitement once hearing the news of Gracie going to be giving birth. She has high hopes that her Ma and Pa will let her care for the filly as her own. Judy makes all the promises that kits make when wanting something with so much responsibility: promising her father to feed, clean, and train the horse herself. The only thing giving her more excitement than getting a young filly, was her father finally agreeing to take her with him to Zootopia.

Judy has heard great things about the rising utopia, the weekly BunnyBurrow Chronicle stating Zootopia as “The Place Where You Can be Anything You Want to Be,” in one of its printings. Judy repeated those words to herself every night before falling asleep,  _ the place where you can be anything you want to be _ . The phrase opened Judy's mind to possibilities she would have never considered. Ever since, Judy would ask her Pa to take her with him every time he made a shipment of produce to the city. Every time she would ask, Stu would tell her no.

The reasons why were for the past few years, the country was engaged in a Civil War. Worst, BunnyBurrow seemed to be smack in the center of the two feuding sides. The BunnyBurrow Chronicle announces in the papers that the war was finally coming to an end, armies were ceasing fire and forming a reasonable treaty. Though the war was over, the nation was still an open wound. Tempers were high, with radicals from both sides continuing to fight and causing havoc for all.

After denying Judy a spot on the cart for so long, Stu finally gave in, believing the travel to be safer with the war over. Though Stu still makes sure to bring his loaded 1860 Henry Rifle with him on every trip, especially now with Judy tagging along. Propped against his leg for quick, easy access, he always hopes never to have to raise it at another mammal, much less ever have to fire it.

On the day he and Judy were to leave for Zootopia, Stu loads the Henry Rifle to its fullest with .44 caliber rounds. Looking at the rifle, Stu couldn't help but admire the rifle's beautiful design. The forge of the golden brass frame, with engravings to give it that extra flair. A sad thought always comes to Stu's mind when admiring his gun; that something so beautiful, with a masterful design, serves one purpose: bring death.

Stu set the rifle aside, making sure he had everything else he  needed for the trip. Wearing his wool pants, white shirt with suspenders, and thick brown coat. The last item was his brown Open Crown hat with a flat rim,he was ready.

Outside, Bonnie, Judy, and the younger siblings were all helping load the chart with as much produce Stu and Judy could bring on their travel. Mostly carrots that they harvested from their farm, there were also two baskets of turnips and radishes, and a small pail of blueberries. All covered with a thick brown tarp.

Judy, wearing a little blue dress, trying to climb up into the shotgun placement on the wagon, the seat was a little too high for her to climb up. Stu, coming up behind her, grabs under Judy's arms and lifts her up; she giggles as Stu places her on the wooden seat. Walking around the wagon, Stu stops to see Bonnie giving him a concerned look. He goes over to reassure her that everything was going to be alright.

"We're going to be okay, I promise," Stu said, "We should be back in six days, eight at the most."

"I know," Bonnie said, "I'm a little more worried than usual since you bringing Judy with you."

"We'll be fine. I believe that with the war over, the trails will be safer."

Bonnie smiles up at her husband and stands on her tiptoes, planting a loving kiss on his lips. Her kiss brought a smile to Stu and made his ears point straight up. From the wagon, Judy called out to her Pa with glee.

Stu, adjusting his open crown hat, making his ears bend back behind his head. Taking his seat right beside Judy, and placing the Henry Rifle propped next to his leg. Judy tied her white bonnet tight on her head to protect her from the sun. Stu grabs hold the reins, and with a flick of his wrist, the wagon began moving.

Judy, filled with excitement, kept turning around to wave goodbye to her siblings. Before leaving the farm, the wagon passes the Hopps’ large storage shed, preserving their stock of vegetables, fruits, and grains.Stu makes sure it's locked, wouldn’t want some wandering mammals stealing from their supply.

On the trail to Zootopia, Stu kept the wagon at a steady speed. Judy's excitement settles down after a half-hour, passing the time by reading passages from the holy book out loud. Judy's reading ability, for her age, was still in development; reading out loud helps her sound out the words better and Stu would try his best to help her if she came across a word too hard to sound out. Though, there were many mammals older than her that never  learnedlearn such an ability.

The three-day trail Stu and Judy were on changes from vast yellow fields of wheat, to a thick forest surrounding, and then to a barren desert. Usually Stu makes the three-day journey, stopping for the night and setting up camp. With Judy traveling with him, Stu finds getting to Zootopia as quick as possible safer, even if that meant traveling at night. He still stands by his word that the roads are safer, now that the war is over, but still would rather be on the cautious side with his daughter. Only stopping to allow Bruce enough food and rest for him to go on.

Stu knew the trail well enough that he could travel at night, guiding Bruce by lantern, had Stu slow Bruce's speed a little. Judy rests against her father's shoulder, covered in one of the blankets they had brought. Stu wraps his arm around her and brings her in closer, providing little extra warmth for her.

The second night, Stu had to stop and make camp for him and Judy, the draft horse wasn't the only one that needed rest. He had been driving the wagon for more than twenty-four hours, he  neededneeds to sleep and make sure he was at his best to make the rest of the journey.

Stu parks the wagon under a large oak tree, the only tree around them. Tying Bruce's reins to one of the hanging tree branches, he got started on building a fire for him and Judy. He gives Judy the job of being the lookout and letting her stand on top of the wagon. Taking off his Open Crown hat and wiping the sweat from his brow.

The camp now set up, they ate and sat by the fire. Stu had the Henry rifle across his lap with the barrel pointing out into the darkness that the fire's light could not reach. He sat on one of the wool blankets and had his back leaning up against one of the wagon's wheels, his hat tilted down to cover his eyes. Judy sat close to the fire, reading the holy book. She would, on occasion, glance over at the rifle across her Pa's lap; she had seen her father carry the gun around on the farm and always taking it with him on his travels, but she'd never actually seen him fire it.

"Hey Pa," Judy said, calling out to her Father. She was not quite sure whether he was sleeping or not.

Stu answers to her, not even looking up, "Yes, Jude-the-dude?" Jude-the-dude, a personal nickname Stu uses on Judy. She could even see a smile poke out from under his hat.

"Your rifle, have you ever fired it?" asked Judy.

"Yes," said Stu.

"Have you ever..." Judy was a little afraid to ask the question, believing he might get angry for asking. "Shot another mammal... with it?"

Stu's smile disappears under his hat. "Thankfully no," he says, "And I hope I never have to."

"But, would you?" Judy asked, "I mean if you had no other choice." Still a little nervous and scared of his reaction and response to her question.

He didn't answer her right away, but when he did, it was with a cold, bone-chilling tone.

"Yes."

What should have been the end of the conversation, Judy continues. "Would you ever, consider teaching me how to shoot?"

Stu lifts up his hat to look at his daughter. "Judy, come here," he says to her. Judy felt a tight feeling in her gut, thinking she might have overstepped her boundaries. Still, obeying her father, she got up from the fire and sat next to him. "Now, why do you want to learn how to fire this rifle?" Stu asks her, patting the golden and engraved bass of the rifle.

"I don't know," she said. Judy being honest didn't know why. "I guess out of curiosity. Or maybe I'll have to use it one day?"

"Judy," Stu said with his sympathetic father voice and looking deep into Judy's eyes, hoping she understands everything he tells her. "This rifle right here is a weapon that serves one purpose. Do you know what that is?" Stu asked. Judy did not answer but stood there feeling a little upset. "That purpose is to kill. That's it, nothing else. But you already have two weapons far greater than this rifle."

"I do?" she asked in a confused manner.

"Yes, this" Stu said, tapping the temple of her forehead. "And this," this time tapping the center of her chest. "Brains and heart, Judy, brains and heart. Always rely on those two weapons, before ever using such a deadly device like this." Stu said, patting the bass of the rifle again. "Do you understand?"

Judy nods her head, understanding what her father was telling her. "Good," he said, "Now, if you're good for the rest of the trip, I might let you practice before we head home. Okay?" Judy smiles and nods her head. "Just, don't tell your mother I let you practice firing the rifle. For both our sakes."

"Now, go throw a few more logs onto the fire and get some rest, I want to leave before dawn," said Stu, tilting his hat back down to cover his eyes. Judy doing as told, tossing a few more logs on the fire, letting the flames grow. She lays down on the wool blanket next to her father, watching the red and orange flames dance in front of a pitch black backdrop. Judy watches and mutters the loving phrase describing Zootopia, till her eyes grow heavy, drifting off to sleep.

After the third night on the road, Stu could tell they were getting close to the outskirts of the city. The path was becoming more structured and finding other traffic on the trail , it wasn't even dawn yet. Judy, again, asleep and resting her head on her father’s shoulder.

In the distance, along with the rising sun, Stu could see it: Zootopia. He brings the wagon to a halt and nudges Judy awake.

Judy rubs her eyes and squints, growing wide upon looking down at the city as it basks in the morning sun's yellow glow. Zootopia was more prominent than anything she had ever seen in BunnyBurrow, or ever thought she would ever see. How large and spread out the city as a whole.

Stu explains and points out to Judy all the different districts that form the city of Zootopia and the route they would be making selling their produce. There was Sahara Square, looking like most western settler towns that Judy has seen. The roads are from the dirt and sand of the land, and the sun was beating down hard on the district. The second district was Tundratown, which houses the mammals in need of a colder environment, tall mountains surrounding the sector helps keep the area in shadows and blocking the sun. There was the Rainforest District, the most laborious district to maintain, which most city workers spent their time upholding. The last area was in the very heart of Zootopia: Savanna Central. Savanna Central had all the modern bells and whistles running the district. It's the only district with cobbled paved roads, all main roads from each sector lead directly to Savanna Central. The pride of Savanna Central was the massive clock tower in the very center of Zootopia.

As Stu pointed out to Judy, they make their way to Sahara Square. The moment their wagon rode into the square, they made a sudden halt as a fox ran in front of Bruce, spooking him. Judy caught a good look at the fox, the fox's fur was fire red and wore a blue wool jacket and pants with a golden outline and golden buttons.

Before Stu could get Bruce moving again, a mountain lion, riding on the back of a brown and white spotted Appaloosa stallion, zooms past them, swinging a lasso over his head. He wore a black duster and derby hat with a flat top and one that curves upward at the sides. The mountain lion's horse gallops up on the running fox, narrowing the gap between them. Now in range, the mountain lion tosses the lasso, roping the fox. With one hard pull, the fox flys back and lands in the dirt covered road.

Judy watches the whole scenario play out. The mountain lion hops off his stallion, marching toward the fox while looping the lasso in his hand. He forces the fox to his feet, taking the lasso rope, the mountain lion ties the fox's hands together and ropes the other end of the lasso to the saddle on the Appaloosa. Mounting back on his horse, the mountain lion leads the captured fox back in the direction they came. As they pass Stu and Judy's wagon, the mountain lion tips his hat to them. Pinned on the right side of the mountain lion's duster jacket was a silver star, that read "SHERIFF." The whole event had Judy in  _ awe _ .

"Not even a minute in the city and you're already getting front row view of the excitement Zootopia holds," Stu chuckles to Judy, as he looks down at her with a smile. Now that the scenario was over, everyone continued with their day. Stu, with a snap of the reins, Bruce gets moving again.

Stu makes trips to each district, conducting business and selling the harvest. While Stu did his rounds, Judy promises to be on her best behavior and not wander off. She was too busy being in  _ awe,  _ looking at the structures of each district. From district to district, she did as her father asked, behaving and not wandering off.

The day was growing late as they made their last stop in Savanna Central. Stu parks the wagon in front of a large trade goods store, Judy helps her father carry the last of the produce from the cart. Once inside, Judy looks around the store, offering all types of products for one to buy, such as fresh produce, soap, candy, and a small selection of hats.

Behind the counter was an elderly looking skunk, with round spectacles perched on his long nose. He wore black trousers, a white long-sleeved shirt, and an ivory work apron around his body. The skunk gave a loud, friendly welcome seeing Stu walking in.

Judy follows her father and places the produce on the counter. While her father made small talk with the skunk behind the counter, she decides to browse the store's goods. Everything seemed practical to her, till reaching the hat selection in the store. There, placed on a mannequin head, was a Brick style hat in a beautiful ivory color and a dark brown leather brim around the top, the folds on the cap were not as straight as her father's Open Crown. Instead, the sides of the hat's rim have a slight curve upward. The last noticeable piece of the cap was the dark brown leather straps that help keep the hat on top of the wearer’s head.

Looking around, Judy saw her father still in friendly conversation with the elderly skunk behind the counter. Judy untied and pulled off her bonnet, making her ears shoot straight up. She reached out, taking the Brick hat off the mannequin head.

"Judy," her father called out behind her before she had a chance to try the hat on. Judy spun around, looking at her father glaring down at her. "What are you doing?" her father asked.

"I..." Judy said, trying to find her words, "I saw this hat and wanted to try it on, and maybe buy it?"

Stu, stepping forward, towers over Judy, grabbing the hat in her hands. With a smile on his face, he put the hat on top of Judy's head. Judy smiles as the hat inches down, having her ears pushed to the side and sliding down Judy's head. The hat was a little too big for Judy, covering her line of sight and stopping at her nose.

"I see your daughter has good taste in hats," the elderly skunk says, "That hat is a customer favorite."

"You wouldn't happen to have a smaller size for her, do you?" Stu asked.

"No," Judy said.

"No?" Stu asked, confused.

"I want the hat to be a little bigger. That way, I can grow into it, I can always have the hat from my first trip to Zootopia." Judy said, lifting up the rim of the hat and smiling at her father.

Stu smiles back down at her. "Well Mike," Stu said, "How much for the hat?"

Mike, the elderly skunk, smiling at Stu, "For you Stu: No charge, this time. You just keep bringing me great produce.” Mike leans down to look at Judy. "Besides, a little bunny girl’s first trip to Zootopia should be memorable," he said, while adjusting the hat for Judy to see better.

"Thank you, Mike," Stu said, turning his attention to a basket of empty bottles behind Mike. "What about those empty bottles over there? I'd be willing to take them off your hands if you'd like?" Mike, still smiling, walked over to the bottles only to turn around and hand the whole basket to Stu, who thanked Mike. Stu put his hand on Judy's back, leading her outside.

Outside, Stu put the earned money into his billfold. Putting Judy in the passenger seat and taking the spot next to her. Reins in hand, Stu pulls up on them, with a loud  _ "SNAP!" _ one of the leather reins breaks. Stu let a few words of profanity slip out of his mouth.

Stu took a look at the torn reins, Judy could tell that fixing the straps would take a little while. She hops off the wagon to have one more exploration of the great city of Zootopia. She looks at the buildings in awe, coming from BunnyBurrow where everything was flat and dull, it was a significant upgrade in sight seeing; traveling down the street looking into all the shop windows. She didn't want to go too far from the cart, figuring, as long as she was within eyesight of her father and the wagon, she was allowed to keep admiring what Savanna Central had to offer.

A crowd of voices came from around the street corner, noticing mammals gathering together. Looking back at her father, Judy could see he was still working hard on fixing the leather straps. As long as she was back before the wagon repairs and stray not too far, she figured she could see what the commotion was about.

A mixture of mammals gathering in front of some large wooden platform. Moving closer, Judy could see that the wood platform was, in fact, a hanging gallows. Standing in the center of the gallows were four different male mammals: a timber wolf, a beaver, a zebra, and the fox she saw get captured earlier today. Each mammals’ hands tied behind their back and had a hangman's rope around their necks.

The mountain lion Sheriff steps forward, putting himself between the crowd and the four mammals on the gallow. With the bunch of mammals quieting down, the Sheriff's spurs click as he walks across the gallows.

Judy could see the Sheriff about to make a loud announcement to the crowd. She knew that her father would soon start to wonder where she was; still, Judy moves in closer to better hear. She stands behind a lamppost on the sidewalk, using it as something to hide behind.

The Sheriff pulls a roll of paper from his pocket, he reads it out loud for all to hear. Adjusting his hat, as if it would help him read what’s on the paper better.

The Sheriff speaks aloud, addressing the crowd; from what Judy could hear, the gathering was for a public execution of the four mammals. The sheriff reads out each mammals crimes: Harvey Morrison, the timber wolf, sentenced to death by hanging for the stabbing of some bar patron in the Rainforest District. Morrison holds his head up as if the approach of death does not bother him. Next, the Sheriff addresses the Beaver and Zebra together, the two mammals tried guilty of horse wrangling and murder. The Beaver smiles at the crowd as he stands there with a hangman's noose around his neck, he shows no remorse for what he's done and laughs; the Zebra, looking the complete opposite from his partner, shakes in fear and cries with tears running down his face. The last mammal, the fox, is the only one that remains to have his crimes revealed. Judy pokes one of her long bunny ears up to hear better.

"Robin P. Wilde," the Sheriff says, addressing the fox, "You are convicted of treason. Abandoning your post during a time of war and allowing enemy troops to infiltrate our perimeter, resulting in the deaths of several of your brothers in arms. Thus, sentenced to death by hanging. Do any of you four have any last words before we proceed?"

Each one of the four mammals on the gallows gave their last words to the crowd. First being the timber wolf, asking for forgiveness from his loved ones, and that he did not start the bar fight, but was the one to end it. The beaver laughs at the crowd, demanding they hurry up with his execution because he has to take a piss soon, this comment made members in the crowd gasp and appalled at the beaver. The beaver's partner, the zebra, instead begs for forgiveness and cries out for his mama for comfort, wanting to go home. Last, of course, was the fox, who shoots his head up to look at the crowd of mammals with teary eyes.

Tears ran down his face, and the fox took in deep breaths to say what he needed to say. "I know what everyone thinks of me, but it’s not true. Out there in the trenches, I only thought about my wife and child, and how they were waiting for me. How they need me. How they still need me. Please, I beg of you, do not do this for you are sending an innocent mammal to die. By killing me, you might as well be killing my wife and child. My son, my son, needs me. A son needs his father, and a wife her husband. Please, I beg of you, don't do this, please." Done speaking, Robin looks out at the crowd. The crowd only stares in silence at the fox. Some members of the mass group to witnesses look down, not wanting to avert their gaze at the fox.

The Sheriff signals to a water buffalo standing behind the four mammals. The water buffalo wore a large brown Gus hat and a long sleeve white shirt under a leather vest. A silver star, smaller than the Sheriff's, pinned to his chest. Judy looks at the water buffalo, believing him to be the Deputy to the Sheriff.

The Deputy steps forward, performing his duty of placing black sacks over each of the mammals’ heads. The zebra fought against this act, jerking his head around, screaming "no" and still calling out for his mama through his tears. Not wanting the black sack to cover his head, thinking as long as the bag wasn't over his head, they will spare him from the gallows. It was a fruitless effort, as the Deputy pulls the sack over the Zebra's head.

Judy felt her stomach churn, she could only imagine what was going through the poor Zebra's mind; darkness being the last thing one sees, feeling alone and scared, knowing death awaits him any second.

Robin was last, tears filling the fox's eyes as he speaks a soft whimper, "Please." Stepping forward, the Deputy places the black sack over Robin Wilde's head.

"Upholding the law, not just in Zootopia, but in our country," the Sheriff says, "All four of you are to hang till death. May God have mercy on your souls." The Sheriff walks over to a lever, placing his paw on the wooden handle and pulls it back towards him. The trap door on the gallows opens up, making all four fall through. Before any of the mammals could hit the ground, the hangman's rope around their necks pulls taut.

Judy jumps back in fright at the horrifying display. She could see that the timber wolf and zebra were dead in an instant, hanging there, not moving, their lifeless bodies swinging back and forth. The beaver and Robin were not so lucky with their fall, the hangman's rope did not snap their necks and provide the luxury of a quick death. Hanging there, the beaver and fox flay and kick into the air, hoping to get loose. The beaver was the first to meet his gruesome end, if Judy had been in front of the crowd, she would have seen a growing puddle of urine underneath his lifeless corpse. Robin continues to fight and struggle to get loose, kicking and flailing. To no luck, Robin's kicks were becoming less frequent till his body stopped moving; the fox became like the three other bodies: dead and swinging, back and forth.

Judy steps back, wanting to get away, but she couldn't take her eyes off the display. It was not until Judy walks right back into something that made her give a loud gasp.

Turning around, her father towers over her. He grabs her arm, and with a rough tug, pulls her close.

"Judy!" Stu shouts at her with a mixture of anger and worry, "I told you not to wander off."

"I'm sorry Pa," Judy said with tears in her eyes, "I didn't mean to wander off. I was only curious. I-I I didn't mean to see-"

Before she could even finish, Stu holds her closer, wanting to shield her from the horrifying sight. "Let's go, Judy. You shouldn't have to see this."

Stu had the wagon all fixed and ready, pushing Judy forward, Stu wanted to make sure his daughter didn't look back at the gallows. He lifts up Judy into the wooden seat, he follows, taking his place beside her. Grabbing the leather reins, Stu got Bruce moving and didn't stop till they were far away from Zootopia.

During the trip back to BunnyBurrow, Judy didn't even make a pep, fearing her father's anger after catching her wandering off. Though, the main reason for her silence was the horrifying images replaying in her head Stu followed the same routine as last time, traveling through the night.

On their second day on the trail, Stu stops near the rocky mountain side, tells Judy that they would be making camp for the night. Judy found this odd for him to do, so early in the day; looking at the sun, late afternoon if she had to guess. Last time, her Father didn’t stop till there was an hour of light left in the day. She wanted to ask her father what they were doing, but she still had a nerve-wracking feeling that he was still angry with her.

Stu unhitches Bruce from the wagon and ties his reins to a large tree. He could tell Judy was watching him, he steps over to the parked wagon and pulls out the basket of empty bottles that Mike had given him earlier. The basket under his arm, Stu walks up to the ridge, being careful of his footing, Stu places the empty glass bottles in various spots. He was glad that the bottles were either brown or green, making them easier to see. Done, Stu makes his way back down to Judy and the wagon.

"What are you doing Pa?" Judy finally asked.

Stu smiles up at her. "Well, I said if you were good, I'd let you practice firing the rifle. Although you did wander off that one time," he said with a scold, "You've earned a chance at target practice." Stu saw a smile creep back on Judy's face.

Stu took a few of the sheets they brought and arranged them on the ground, setting up a place for Judy to lay down on, and a few rolled up blankets to help prop up the rifle. He figures it was the best way for her to start, her being way too young to try standing with the Henry; he could only imagine if she tries, she would be rolling backward after the first shot.

He retrieves the rifle from the wagon, walking back, he calls Judy, who was pouring cold water for Bruce into a large pale.

Judy strokes her hand against Bruce's side, making him feel calm before rushing over to her father, leaving Bruce to rest in the shade. Her father was laying on the blankets, pating at the empty spot to his right. Judy lays down beside him. Judy adjusts her Brick hat back and tightens the leather straps, she didn't want her hat distracting her.

"Okay, you see the glass bottles spread out on that rock ridge?" he asked Judy, who nodded, "Good, now do you remember the two powerful weapons you have, the ones I told you about?"

It took Judy a moment to understand what her father was talking about, remembering what he told her on their first night. "Brains and heart!" Judy shouts with excitement.

"That's right, always rely on those two weapons first, before ever picking up a weapon like this," says Stu, patting the butt of the rifle. "Unfortunately," he continues in an upsetting tone, "There might be a time where, and God forbid, using old Henry here is the last and only option." Stu took a minute to compose himself, shaking off the sad thought of having to use the rifle on another mammal. "Now, Judy, I need you to pay close attention."

Judy with a smile, nodded her head in excitement.

He tells her always to know what her target is before ever pulling the trigger, demonstrating by picking one of the brown bottles he set up, adjusts his body to better position and props the rifle barrel on top of the bundle of blankets. Next Stu shows Judy how to load the chamber by slowly cocking the lever on the rifle, she watches with wide eyes as he points to the firing hammer, primed and ready. He takes aim, taking in a deep breath and letting half of it out. Stu fires the rifle. The forge of the golden brass frame, with engravings to give it thFrom the blue tapered barrel, making it strong and reliable from any damage, to the forge of a golden brass frame, with engravings to give it that extra flair. Last, the walnut polish on the grip and stock, giving the shooter a steady aim.

_ PaPOW! _

The rifle spits fire out it’s barrel, the empty brown bottle explodes, sending glass shards in every direction, it’s loud crack causes Judy’s ears to clasp shut. The barrel jumps up an inch, showing the level of practiced control Stu had on the rifle. He looks at his daughter with a smile on his face and chuckles at her covered ears, guess he should have warned her how loud a gun can be when fired. Stu cocks the lever, ejecting the empty cartridge and loading a fresh one in the barrel. He holds out the rifle for Judy to take.

"A few things you need to remember is..." Stu says, trying to figure out the best way to describe the kickback. "You remember that time you walked up behind Bruce, and he gave you a quick heavy kick?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, "I had a bruise for a week."

"Well, when you fire the rifle, it's going to give you a firm kick into your shoulder. It might scare you at first, but there's no reason to. What you want to do is push the butt of the rifle hard into your shoulder, this way, your shoulder, and arm will absorb the kick and it won't hurt."

Stu helps Judy get in a comfortable position, he pushes the butt of the gun hard into her shoulder. He lines up her shot, the two pieces of metal, one close to her eye and the other at the barrel's end, line up with a green bottle not too far off. He tells her to watch her breathing, this will increase her accuracy and keep her hands from shaking. Judy does as told, taking in a deep breath and letting half of it out. She feels her nerves calming down and her hands stop shaking.

"Now," Stu says, "when you feel good and ready to fire, squeeze the trigger."

Judy lines up her shot, digs the butt of the rifle into her shoulder, takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. She fights, trying not to make the rifle shake as she aims and squeezes the trigger.

_ PaPOW! _

The rifle jumps in Judy's arms. Her hat falls forward, covering her eyes, a cloud of dust shoots up beside the bottle.

"How did it feel?" Stu asks her, chuckling at her first attempt. Judy adjusts her oversized hat and smiles up at him, rubbing her arm from the kickback. "You did well for the first time. Now that you know what to expect, you should do better at hitting your target. Try again." Cocking the lever for her.

Judy took the rifle back and did as before: she digs the butt of the gun into her shoulder, slows her breathing, and lines up the rifle with the target. She squeezes the trigger.

_ PaPOW! _

Judy sees the barrel ignite with fire, this time the green bottle shatters. Judy looks at her father with excitement on her face. Stu smiles with pride at her and lets her practice with the rest of the bottles.

Not too bad, Stu thought, seeing her hit almost half of the bottles. It wasn't until the sun lowered to the horizon that he decided Judy had enough rifle practice for one day. Taking back the rifle, he told her to gather firewood for the night, leaving her Pa to himself. Stu stood up and looked at the remaining bottles, in a quick instant, he raises the Henry Rifle and fires. Within thirty seconds, there was nothing left but glass shards.  _ Still got it _ , he thought.

The next morning, before the sun was even up, Stu got them back on the trail to BunnyBurrow. For the rest of the trip, Judy had been bouncing with excitement, she couldn't wait to get back home and brag to her younger siblings about everything she’d seen and show off her new hat.

By the time they had finally made it back to the Hopps Family Ranch, the sun had gone down and the land was hard to see. The lack of daylight did not concern Stu, he knew he was on the right path and the ranch was only a mile or two away. He could guide Bruce and the wagon back to the ranch without the help of the foggy glass lantern.

Though, as enjoyable as the journey was, Stu was glad that they were almost home. At the ranch, Judy's safety wouldn't be his primary concern. A sense of normalcy, he supposed, is what he was looking forward to; that and Bonnie's loving embrace waiting for him.

Up ahead, Stu sees it: the Hopps Family Ranch. He could see a few lit lanterns shining through the windows. Beside him, Judy was fast asleep, resting her head on her father’s shoulder.

Only a few hundred feet to the house, when Stu sees the double doors to their storage shed are wide open. Stu pulls on Bruce's reins, bringing him and the wagon to a stop. Two things were running through Stu's: either someone in the family carelessly left the shack door open, when it should always be locked, or, worst case scenario, someone had broken in.

Grabbing the lantern off the hook and his Henry Rifle, Stu investigates keeping the rifle close and primed, finger near the trigger.

Moving closer, Stu hears loud rustling noises coming from inside, making him stop and proceed with caution. The iron-brass lock busted and tossed to the ground, stepping around the entrance, his lantern lighting up the shed.

Inside, Stu sees a deer in a gray wool jacket and pants rummaging through his family's harvest. The deer had his back turned, having no idea of Stu's presence; raises his rifle.

"Can I help you?" asks Stu.

The deer, as quick as he can, turns to face Stu, tripping over his own feet and stumbling backward. The deer held a lantern in one hand and what seemed like a rusty looking Dragoon Revolver in the other, which was now aimed at Stu.

Stu kept his cool and did not fire on the deer, even with a revolver now pointing at him. He could tell that the deer was shaking with fear, he couldn't even point the gun straight.

"Back off!" the deer shouts. Now having a better look at the deer, Stu could see that the gray wool jacket and pants were torn and caked in mud, some of his family's produce poking out of his pockets. "Back off!" the deer said again, "I don't want to shoot you, but I will if given no choice." The deer's words didn't even seem to phase Stu.

Stu took a few steps back, widening the doorway for the deer. "Why don't you step outside and we can talk," said Stu in a calming tone. The deer didn't know what to make of this.

"Put down your rifle first," the deer demanded, shaking the revolver at him.

  * "I can't do that son. So why don't you step outside and we can talk? You can keep your gun if you'd like."



The reluctant deer agrees to his terms. At a slow pace, the deer steps out of the shed, revolver still pointing at Stu.

Once outside, Stu places his lantern on a hook beside him, the deer doing the same with his lamp. "Now, if you would so kindly lower your revolver, I will be glad to lower my rifle." The deer still wasn't sure what to do.

"Pa?".

_ Judy. _ The commotion must have woken her up.

"Judy!" Stu yells, never taking his eyes off of the deer. "Get behind me and stay there!" He felt her grab tight to the back of his jacket.

The deer could see the young bunny hiding behind, what he could only assume as her father. The deer lowers the pistol to his side; Stu lowers his as promised.

"I'm sorry," the deer said, "My friend and I are running from both armies. Despite the war being over, we were labeled either as traitors or criminals. We're tired and hungry, we saw the shed and hoped to find something to eat. That's all, just a little bit of food."

Stu takes a long look at the deer, seeing someone who was sad, scared, and guilty. "Judy, go grab a white sack and fill it with potatoes, carrots, radishes, some blueberries, and two small jugs of milk. Go now," Stu says, never taking his eyes off the deer.

Judy fetched everything her father asked her, coming back out of the shed with a white sack full of goods. She was a little more than halfway to the deer when her father told her to stop and place the sack on the ground. After doing so, she ran back and took her place behind her father.

"That should be enough to last you and your friend for a while," Stu said.

The deer walks over to the sack on the ground, slowly grabs the bag. The deer looks at Stu in bewilderment. "Thank you, but, why are you helping me? I'm a thief, and you have every right to blow my head off?"

"Forgive me if I answer your question with a question of my own," Stu said, "Why are we so quick to kill each other?"

The deer gave his thanks one last time and apologies for any damage he may have caused. With the full sack in hand, the deer turns and takes off into the night. Stu lets out a long sigh of relief and finally lowers the rifle.

"Why didn't you shoot him?" asks Judy.

Stu kneels to her eye level. "Have you already forgotten what I told you? The brain and heart are the most powerful weapons we have and should be the first we use," he took a breath before continuing, "Yes, he was a thief; but I also saw a young mammal forced to fight in a bloody and pointless war, and only wanting some food."

Even in the dark, he could see the smile on Judy's face. “Judy, why don’t you head back to the wagon. I’ll be there in a few." She grabs the lantern and heads back to the wagon. Stu stares up at the starry night sky, making him feel small in the world.

From behind, came a loud high pitch scream. Stu, with quick haste, turns around, rifle raised. Standing there next to the lantern and holding his daughter, was a fox. The fox's clothes are in the same condition as the deer. The fox's arm wrapped around Judy, with the blade of a knife pressed against her left cheek. in the fox's other hand was a rusty looking Dragoon revolver, now pointing at Stu.

"Let her go. Now," demanded Stu.

From around the corner came the deer running. "Lester," the Deer said, trying to catch his breath. "Don't do this. I told you, they gave us the supplies. They don't want to do us any harm."

"Don't be so stupid Marcus," the fox, now known as Lester, said, "They play nice now, but the moment we turn our backs, they will round up a posse and come hunting for us. Then next thing you know, we'll be facing a firing squad! Is that what you want Marcus!?"

"I'm going to give you to the count of three, let my daughter go and leave my ranch while you still can," Stu said, "It's your only chance. One..."

"Damnit Lester," cursed Marus, "Listen to me. Let the girl go and let's get out of here. They haven't done anything to us."

"Two..."

Lester was still not convinced by his friend's pleads. "No. Not without some form of insurance. If anybody follows us, she's dead."

Judy's eyes were filled with tears. She could feel the knife's blade start to cut into her cheek, most likely to leave a scar.

Everything was happening so fast, Judy didn't know how to process it all. Her Pa was only a few feet in front of her; that's where she wanted to be, safely beside him. Her breathing was rapid, everything seemed to be going in slow motion.

"Three."

In a quick instant, Stu turns the rifle to the left and fires. Behind Judy and Lester, the lantern explodes into a bright ball of fire, the fox throws his arms up to shield himself from the flames. Judy watches, almost as if all was in slow motion, she could see her father cocking the rifle's lever and redirecting the barrel back towards Lester.

Everything is in pitch black darkness. The only light coming from the barrel of the Henry Rifle as Stu fires a second round. Something wet splashes on top of Judy's head, Lester's grip went limp. Judy falls into the dirt, senses coming back to her.  _ I'm free _ , she thought. _ I'm free. I need to run. Where? Forward. Forward to Pa _ .

Judy, scared and confused, trying to stand up and run, every few feet, she’d end up tripping over her dress. Afraid Lester would grab her again. A firm hand grabs her shoulder, making her scream in fright.

"Judy," she heard her Pa's voice. Hearing him replaced the sick scared feeling with relief. "It's okay Judy. Get behind me," her father said. She listened, grabbing his jacket with a tight grip, never wanting to let go.

Stepping forward, with his rifle still raised, Stu reaches out and grabs the lantern hanging on the door, the one Marcus put up. He holds the lamp up, illuminating as much as he could.

Laying on the ground,looking up with lifeless eyes, was Lester. A bloodstained bullet hole in his chest, turning his wool jacket to a dark red. Kneeling off to the side, Marcus was crying for his dead friend.

"I'm sorry," Marus said, "I'm sorry. I tried to tell him you were good mammals, but he wouldn't listen."

"Get off my ranch. Now!" yelled Stu, not even giving a glance towards Marcus, fixated on the dead fox. Marcus gathers himself up, grabs the sack of food and gives one last look to his dead friend before disappearing into the night.

Stu lowered the rifle and knelt over Lester’s body. He takes his hat off and buries his face in it.

"Pa, are you alright?" asked Judy.

"Yes sweetheart, I'm alright," Stu said wiping a few small tears from his eyes.

"I'm sorry, you-you had to-"

"Judy, do you think you can make your way to the house from here?"

"I believe I can."

"I need you to run to the house and tell your mother what has happened, and that everything is alright. I have to stay here and take care of this," Stu says, standing back up. He looks back over at Judy, who was still standing there, "You heard me. Go on now."

She nods, still in a state of shock, and runs as fast as she can to the house, lifting up her blue dress to run even faster. At the front of the house, Judy stops to catch her breath. Inside, she found her mother in the kitchen, wiping some dishes with an old rag.

"Ma!" Judy calls.

"Judy? Is that you? Is your father-" Bonnie stops when she sees the state Judy is in. "Oh my God!" she shouts. The plate drops and shatters, hitting the floor. Bonnie rushes to her daughter.

"Judy. My God, are you alright? Are you hurt?" her mother asks, firing off question after question.

"I'm fine," Judy says, "And Pa's fine. But he's out in the field and needs your help."

Bonnie nods, but still wide-eyed with fear. "Judy. You need to go wash-up and clean yourself. And make sure your brothers and sisters stay in the house till your father or I return. Understand?"

"Yes, mama," Judy says.

Bonnie runs out of the house to help her husband, leaving Judy alone, everyone else in the house was asleep. As quiet as she can be, she makes her way to the washroom. In the room, she found a large washing bowl and a kettle that still had little warm water left in it. Pouring the water into the pot, looking at herself in the mirror. She sees now why her mother was so frantic.

There’s splatter of blood on top of her head, which ran down the front of her face and the cut that the fox's knife made on her left cheek. She splashes warm water on her face, cleaning the blood off, along with a few tears. The clear water in the bowl started turning a pinkish red color with every rinse and didn't stop till all traces of blood were removed, the cut on her cheek had stopped bleeding.

Clean, Judy reaches behind her back for her hat, she found that to be a small relief that nothing happened to it. The Brick style hat still looks in perfect condition, till she turns it to the side. On one side, where the fox had been shot, was a splatter of blood. With rag in hand, the small bunny scrubs at the stain in hopes of removing it. It wipes most of the blood off, but some of it had soaked into the hat's fabric, leaving a permanent stain. A stain that she could never remove, reminding her, always, not just of this night, but of this entire journey to Zootopia.


	2. The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something I forgot to mention in the first chapter and that is horses are the only land mammal that have stopped evolving and are as we know them today. The purpose doing this was to maintain the Western them of the story.

**The Wilde  
** _"I like big fat men like you. When they fall they make more noise"_  
 _-Tuco, The Ugly_

**15 years Later...**

The early morning rays of the sun touch down on Zootopia's Sahara District. Through the years the district had grown, making buildings bigger and more diverse. The only thing that hasn't changed is the sweltering heat: the roads were still nothing but sand, dirt, and puddles of mud that would sink any wagon wheel.

That morning, the streets were empty, no wagons or mammals in sight. Only thing stopping the district from looking like a ghost town was a small posse of mammals, with rifles and shotguns in hand, making their way down the road.

Deputy Bogo, a water buffalo, in a thick gray duster coat and a large dusty gray Cattleman hat with both sides curved upwards for his horns to stick through. Watching the Swearengen Inn from the shadows.

The Swearengen Inn, the cheapest place for any traveler visiting Zootopia, serving all their wants and needs. Being only two floors tall, the little Inn had a mixture of all sorts of spirits to drink, a few gambling tables, and, for the right price, a harlot to help those few in need of company through the night.

Bogo's gaze never strayed away from the Inn. Following close behind him were a few of his trusted deputies and a Zootopia Ranger, a tall, skinny coyote wearing a blue scarf around his neck. Bogo hates working with these so-called "Rangers," but he could put up with their egotistic ways for the moment if it means accomplishing what they came here to do.

The Zootopia Rangers: appointed law enforcers, hand-picked by the Assistant Mayor and then approved by the Mayor himself. Those selected to be Rangers are to be the most law-abiding citizens. Though to Bogo, the chosen mammals represent only the worst law-abiding mammals. These "Zoo Rangers" have a wider range of freedom than any of the real law enforcement can do. Not even the Sheriff, his father, had the range of power that the Zoo Rangers do. He, along with his father, believes that these Rangers were only making things worse in Zootopia. Hearing reports of Rangers firing on and arresting mammals, with no evidence. The very idea filled Bogo with disgust and rage. He pushes the thought to the side, he can't think about that, not now.

A quick glance to his left. More of the Rangers surrounding the Inn, rifles and scatterguns at the ready. Good, he thought. Bogo has never been so close to capturing this criminal and he has no intention of letting the low life slip through his fingers.

Stepping into the Swearengen Inn, Bogo made a quick note of his surroundings. The Inn was not yet open to the public, the room was small and a zebra behind the bar wiped away any filth from the bar counter. Three heavy drunks lay passed out, when the drunks wake up, they will more than likely be suffering a hellish hangover.

The zebra turns his attention to Bogo and the posse behind him. Before the zebra utters a single word, Bogo holds a finger up to his lips. Rummaging inside his duster till he pulls out a small scroll. Bogo holds up a "Wanted" poster in front of the zebra, he glances back and forth several times from the notice to Bogo.

The zebra, with a scrap paper and pen, writes down a number for Bogo to see: room #105. Holding up the slip of paper, nods and rolls his eyes toward the staircase. Bogo nods in understanding.

Tucking the wanted poster inside his duster, Bogo pulls out his Model #3 Smith & Wesson revolver with an ivory handle. The .44 caliber, nickel coated gun made fit for Bogo's massive hands. He turns, looking back at his posse. The whole group does the same, removing their pistols and raising their scatterguns, primed their weapons, trying to be as silent as possible in the act.

The coyote Zoo Ranger, a devious grin on his face, whipped out his Peacemaker revolver from its holster and gave the gun a fast twirl. The Zoo Ranger cocked back the hammer on his pistol, with complete disregard of how much noise he made. Bogo gave t he Ranger a disgruntled look. _We are here to get the drop on him you fool,_ Bogo thought.

All were ready, as Bogo led the march up the wooden staircase. Tiptoed up each step, hoping to not cause any noise from the floorboards, slow and steady to room 105.

A door opens and a female mammal walks out into the hall. She was likely one of the female escorts that some mammals could buy for a good nights company. Too busy covering her undergarments and buttoning her blouse, she did not see the group of armed mammals, not until she stumbled into them.

The woman gave an alarming yelp when looking up at them. Bogo moves in quick, making the wooden floor give a loud creak. He covered her mouth with his free hand and pushed her up against the wall. Bogo used the barrel of his revolver like a finger, pressed the barrel against his lips, telling her to be quiet. Believing she had calmed down, Bogo let go of her mouth. The woman does and quickly flees.

Bogo continues his march down the hallway, arriving at Room 105. Putting his back against the wall on the left side of the door. He pointed the rest of the group to their places and aimed their loaded guns at the door. Knowing this criminal, Bogo assumes the criminal knew they were here, waiting. He gives the honor of kicking down the hard wooden door to the Zoo Ranger.

The Zoo Ranger, grinned and twirled his revolver. Bogo only shook his head and wanted to slap the mammal hard across the face. _The fool still thinks this is all a game._

The Ranger shook his shoulders as if to limber up. He took a step back before he charged at the door. With a swift kick from the Ranger, the door busted open with the loud _crack!_

The door flew open, as a burst of flames exited, the Ranger used his arm to shield himself from the heat. Three loud gunshots came through from the fire. The Ranger's firing arm explodes in three different spots, each bullet sends a burst of blood spraying everywhere.

He falls backward, hollering in pain. His once white shirt was now splattered red. "The bastard, shot me!" The Ranger yelled.

He tried to raise his arm and fired. With damage to his arm, the Ranger raised the revolver only a few inches and squeezed off one shot before the arm went limp.

Bogo would love to rejoice in the Rangers misfortune, but his focus on the mission was more important. Bogo moved in, past the flames. He heard the loud sound of glass breaking. Clear of the smoke and flames, Bogo sees a naked vixen screaming in fear under the bed and a red fire tail of a fox escaping through the window. Bogo raised his Smith & Wesson and opened fire.

* * *

A possum patrolled outside of the Inn. He was a Ranger, hand picked, and enjoyed every bit of it. Though patrolling the outside of some dingy little Inn was not what he wanted to be doing so early in the morning. The only reason he found himself doing this was that the water buffalo made a promise of proper payment for the job.

From above him, came the loud sound of gun fire, three times to be exact. Next came a loud scream of someone in pain. The Ranger took a step back to get a better look at what was going on.

It seemed as though the sounds were coming from a window above him. Another shot fired, followed by the piercing of wood. The Ranger raised his rifle, readying himself for anything.

The window shattered open, the Ranger shielded his eyes from falling shards of glass.

There standing outside the window, trying to catch his balance on the slippery roof, was a fire-red fox. He wore a long sleeve button up shirt and black vest. Atop his head was a black Gamblers style hat. Though his upper half was, for the most part, dressed proper, he wore no pants, exposing his bottom half in his long underwear. He held his pants in a bundle in his hand, two gun holster belts, revolvers still holstered, slung over his arm, boots hung around his neck. Finally, a third holster was thrown over his other shoulder, the gun in his hand. The Ranger took a moment to get a good look at him. There he was, Nicholas P. Wilde; otherwise known as, Nick the Wild.

* * *

Nicholas P. Wilde, lay sleeping on the small rickety bed of room 105 at the Swearnenger Inn. A soft kick from another's leg woke him up. Opening his eyes, letting them adjust to the lighting of the room.

The room Nick rented for the night was rather small and empty, the bed placed in the far corner by the window, a small nightstand next to the bed with an oil lantern sitting on top of it, a low burning flame and enough oil to keep it lit. A table with a large oval mirror mounted on it pushed against the opposite wall. The desk even had a stiff wooden chair and was the only other piece of furniture in the room, other than a few hooks on the walls to hang one's clothes on.

Nick rubbed his eyes to the morning light, the tiny specks of dust dancing in the sunlight. Something he always found peaceful and captivating.

There was another soft kick on his legs. On the other side of the bed lay a pretty looking vixen, she was still asleep, her head and arm rested on Nick's naked chest. Her coat was a shade lighter than his own. What he found most intriguing was the white spots along her face and nose. Feeling the vixen pressed against him filled him with excitement, already becoming frisky.

Nick shifts his legs, hitting something hard that rolled off the bed, making a loud _thud_ sound as it hits the floor. Looking over the side, he sees an empty bottle of whiskey. That would explain the pounding in his head, the memory of last night coming back to him in pieces.

He remembered how he slipped into Swearenger at its busiest of times, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. The Inn packed with mammals looking for a good time, whether that be drinking, dancing, gambling, or finding a gal they could buy for the night. Nick was there for none of those things, at least not at first.

Nick snuck into the bar last night, in hopes of overhearing any useful gossip, the type involving any wealthy stagecoaches that would happen to be passing through, or a big player he could swindle, or if any worthy shipments were arriving.

Nick wanted to keep a low profile that night, his hat tuckered down covering his face. He ordered a three finger shot of bourbon and spent the night wet nursing the one drink, a couple of working gals offered him a good night's rest, to which he declined in a kind manner. That was until this young vixen, who now resided in his arms, offered herself. Nick must admit, she was, is, very beautiful for a working girl of the night.

Valorie, he believes, was the name she gave him. Nick remembers her sweet talk, letting his guard down for a moment or two. She told him that he would be her first client ever since agreeing to such work. He has heard this line used by several other harlots that night; for all he knew, he could be her forty seventh first time. Though in all honesty, Nick wanted to pretend, for that night, that she was telling him the truth.

Given in to his vices, Nick gulped down the rest of his shot of bourbon and agreed to the vixen's offer. Besides, he still had a handy amount of money from the last job he and the gang pulled off. Most of Nick's gang acquaintances would, as quick as they can, spend their cut from a job before a night's end; Nick instead would save his money up and contribute only to what he needs. Though at times, making spending splurges himself. What's the point of being an outlaw if it was all work and no play?

Nick remembered taking the cute vixen by the hand, he paid for a room and a cheap bottle of whiskey, nothing too fancy. Pulled her into the room and uncorked the bottle, took a sip and passed the bottle to her, she did the same. They did this till the both of them were well liquored up.

Looking around the room, Nick can place how the events occurred from that point forward. The vixen's clothes bundled on the floor by the door. His long sleeve shirt and plain black vest hung off the desk mirror . Next to the bed in a bundled up pile was his long underwear, light fabric pants, and his boots tied together by a long leather strap.

Slung on the chair were two of his three gun holster belts, the last two items were his Gamblers hat and his main gun holster. Looking up he spotted both objects on the bedpost beside him. The Gambler hat he favors, was black with a silver color ring band on the hat's base. His main gun holster belt on the bedpost faced outward, he did this for the small probability of needing to make a quick draw for the 1860 Army Colt revolver it holstered.

The 1860 Army Colt had a smooth handle made from hard redwood, the revolver's cylinder was a shiny brass cover, almost making it shine like gold. The rest of the gun was made from tapered steel. As fine of a handgun as the 1860 Army Colt is, the gun was nothing more than the closest revolver to a placeholder for the holster. The reason Nick made the holster his primary gun was in respect to the gun's previous owner: his father.

His father tailored the holster specifically for his own revolver, forever lost now; the belt had an extra strap on the bottom, letting the wearer hang the holster low. This allowed the revolver's handle to be level with his hand. The holster's extra strap at the bottom, fastens around the wearer's thigh, making their draw faster. The thick brown leather was well crafted and oiled.

Nick remembers when deciding to leave home, wanting to take his father's gun and holster. In delight, Nick found the holster but remembered going into a fit of rage when his mother told him that she sold the revolver for extra drinking money. Nick couldn't believe she would sell his father's pistol. The gun that the holster was for, to keep her addiction up. Nick remembered how his mother gave him the news, as if she never cared for his father, her husband, at all. He remembered her sitting in the rocker on the porch in the slums of Zootopia. Smelling as if she had bathed in bourbon and drinking corn whiskey from a jug. The worst part of the whole experience was remembering how she never turned to look at him when Nick decided to leave for good.

Nick did not want to dread on such thoughts that envied with his father. 15 years since his father died and still finds it hard to think about. He wondered what his father would think of him, if still alive. Seeing wanted posters of his son's face plastered every two blocks. All was too upsetting to think about.

Looking over at the other two holster belts and making a note of them. The bigger of the two sashes on the chair holstered Nick's Single Action Army Peacemaker. The .40 caliber Peacemaker made from tapered black steel. The revolver's hand carved and polished black from oak wood. When worn, Nick would position the pistol closer to his left hand. He had a faster draw with his right hand, which is why he kept the Army Colt on his right side. But with the Peacemaker's light weight, accuracy, and less powerful kick than his primary weapon, Nick could draw the gun from its holster with his left hand almost as fast as he could with his right.

The last belt carried the smallest of his three guns. A .357 mag Short Stroke SASS r nickel plated revolver. Though the Short Stroke was small and only ever used as a last resort weapon, Nick liked the way the nickel plating gave it a beautiful shine, along with the well-crafted ivory handle. Since the Short Stroke was a last option weapon, Nick kept the gun holstered behind his back and close to his right hand to reach back and draw with speed.

The vixen, Nick paid a good night for, stretched out her body. Her fox claws poking out, scraped against his chest in a soft manner. She squints at the morning's light, looks up at Nick and gives a sweet smile.

"Morning, love." The vixen said. "Did you enjoy last night's endeavors?" The cute vixen asked. She scooched up closer to Nicks' face.

"Must admit, you did give me quite a workout last night. Several times in fact," Nick says. Both laugh at his simple-minded joke.

Nick stops laughing and jerks his head up toward the door. Nick's fox ears pointed straight up, in the sense of danger. Out in the hallway comes the quick yelping sound of some female, followed by the loud wailing of the wooden floorboards. He holds his hand up to the vixen next to him to silence her.

Nick could hear only silence. His fur stood straight up in Nick. Having this feeling more than once before, he knew something against his favor, was coming his way. Nick throws the covers off of himself and rolls off the bed.

"What's wrong," the pretty vixen asked, sitting up and letting herself become exposed. Confused by the whole situation, even as she watches Nick throw on his long underwear. "Was it something I said?"

"Be quiet," he said, a little harsh with his tone. "Quick, get under the bed," he says to the naked vixen. Nick grabs her by the wrist, pulling her out of bed, like a rag doll. Nick had no time to explain why he pushed her under the bed. "Stay there till everything is clear," he told her.

Nick, in a frantic state, scans the room, wanting everything that was his. He grabs his long sleeve shirt, puts it on and works two of the buttons, which come out looking crooked. Nick grabbed his plain black vest from the corner mirror and put it on, not even bothering to button it up. Nick grabs the two gun belts he left on the chair He takes the black gambler hat off the bedpost.

Nick couldn't think about the lack of time and the haste he was rushing. He still had no pants on, or boots on his feet. His fox ears twitched and pointed towards the door. Whoever, or whomever, was coming for him, was right outside the door. Nick grabbed his boots and hangs them around his neck. He can hear them outside, ready to barge in.

Thinking fast, Nick scans the room and looks at the oil lamp on the nightstand. Grabbing the lamb off the nightstand, he throws it above the door. The lamp shattered, creating a fireball that ignites the wood, from the top of the door all the way to the floor.

The fire broke out at the right time. The door burst open, letting in a back-draft, causing the flames to grow bigger and roar louder with heat. Nick could see someone, shielding themselves from the heat. He didn't know who it was, but that didn't matter. Nick, quickly draws the 1860 Army Colt out of his main holster belt and rapidly fires three shots into the fire. Nick knew he hit his target, from the wailing sound of someone in pain.

Nick grabs his father's gun belt, slinging it over his right shoulder. He grabs his pants in a giant wad of cloth. He looks to the window, wanting to get it open. From the flaming doorway, a shot rings out, piercing the wall to Nick's right. Outside in the hallway, he hears someone ready to charge through the fire _. To hell with it,_ Nick thought and jumped through the unopened window.

Shards of glass from the window exploded outward as Nick jumped through. Landing on the shingled roof, he runs down the slight slope. The idea of him jumping off the roof and escaping diverts when he sees a possum raise his rifle to fire. Nick made a quick turn to his right, almost slipping on the shingle roof, as the possum fired. Nick can hear the bullet hit the roof behind him. He ran as fast as he could across the shingled roof, which was harder than it looked, being half naked as he ran. Also, with two loose gun belts around his left arm, and his father's around his right arm making running even harder.

Nick could hear heavy footsteps behind him. He dared not turn around. If Nick had to guess, it's more than likely deputy Bogo who has made capturing him a personal vendetta. Bullets whiz past him at a fast pace, followed by loud gunshots. More mammals start surrounding the end and take fire at Nick as he runs.

Unable to stop and catch his breath, Nick sees ahead of him a window to the brothel next door. Being his only chance, Nick tries to pick up speed. Having only one shot to clear the length between the two buildings and land through the closed window. Nick ran and jumped. Kicking his feet in the air, as if it will somehow help.

With a loud _"CRASH!"_ Nick brook through the window of the brothel. He lands on the wooden floor, hard. A variety of different half-dressed female mammals scream at his entrance. Getting up off the floor, Nick takes in a breath. Feeling more relaxed as he does. The naked harlots in the room grab at whatever piece of clothing they can to cover their exposed self. Nick dusted off his vest, wanted to get any broken glass off of him, doing the same with his hat.

Seeing the females in a state of panic at his sudden appearance, Nick holstered his gun back in his father's belt, which still hung around his right arm. He raised his hands to calm the women down. "Sorry for the intrusion ladies. Not here for a free peep show, just passing through."

Walking past the women and exiting the dressing room. Nick doesn't stop. He walked up to the room across the hallway. Kicked in the door, Nick startled the two mammals taking residence in the room. To the left of the room was a female fox half dressed. Her name was Trixie, someone he had come to know quite well, especially when nights become too lonely for him. On the right side of the room a leopard, lying naked on the bed, using the beds blanket to cover his nudity. He curses in outrage at Nick's sudden entrance.

"Don't mind me, folks," Nick says. "Just passing through. Need to use your balcony exit. Hey Trixie, how you've been?" As Nick walks past her, he gives her a quick slap on her behind.

Trixie squealed and swung her hand down hard, knocking Nick's hand away. She scowls at the cheeky smile on his face. "God Damn you, Nick Wilde," she says.

"He hasn't damned me yet," Nick responds back. "But, I'm pretty sure he's working on it."

Nick walks out onto the balcony. He puts two fingers to his mouth and gives a loud whistle. Jumping over the railing. Nick lands in a giant pile of horse manure, with a loud "plop!" sound. "Shit," he says with aggravation. Looking down at the pile of ankle-deep manure. Lifting a foot, he gives it a shake as if that will make his foot clean.

Before he could do the same with the other foot, two Zoo Rangers turned the corner and spotted him. One was a hound dog wielding a rifle and the other a beaver with a typical revolver. They each wear a blue scarf, pinned with a badge, around their waist like belts. The two mammals took aim at Nick and opened fire.

Nick runs, as fast as he can. Hearing the bullets whiz by, made him only run faster. Nick puts two fingers to his mouth again and gives another loud whistle blow.

With all the commotion, more and more residents in the area were opening their doors and windows, to see what was going on. Nick dashes down a narrow alley and takes refuge behind a crate of boxes. Hoping he's bought himself enough time to put his pants and boots on at the very least.

With pants and boots on, all he had to carry were the gun holsters. Nick lifts his head up a little bit over the wooden crates, wanting a better look and hearing what's happening. He could see the Zoo Rangers running back and forth looking for him, cursing at their miss firings.

Nick had no worries about the Zoo Rangers. They were all trigger happy incompetent fools. The only one Nick had concerns for was the deputy, Bogo. That water buffalo is relentless.

Nick sneaks his way farther down the alley. Checking to make sure it was clear, Nick ran out. Taking cover between every other building. Every stop he made and took cover, he would whistle out loud. Whether he shows up or not, didn't matter. He had to get out of Zootopia as fast as he could. Knowing the Sahra district well enough, he knows the border is more than likely closed off, which couldn't be more than a few hundred yards from.

Moseying down one of the alleys, he sees the border of Zootopia. It was a good run to make, but Nick's been in worse odds than this. Taking a few quick deep breaths, Nick runs out towards the border. Stepping one foot out of the alley, a giant hand wielding a large revolver swings out, smacking him square across the face and sending him flying to the ground.

Nick could only see stars and black spots in front of him. Feeling two large hands grab him by the collar, lifting him off the ground. Nick feels his hat fall off his head, and still no idea who has apprehended him.

With his sight coming back, he stares into the dagger-like eyes of a water buffalo. Deputy Bogo, finally having him in his hands. Bogo smacks him across the face again, with the hand holding the revolver, making Nick taste blood.

Bogo, letting one hand grip tight to Nick's collar then grabs Nick's throat with a tight squeeze. Nick, finding it hard to breath with Bogo's grip around his throat. "I got you," Bogo says to the choking Nick. "I got you, you son of a bitch. No way in hell you're going to sleaz or talk your way out of this."

Nick mumbles something out of his mouth. Hard to understand what he's saying due to Bogo's tight grip. Bogo loosens his grasp to better hear him. "You're a pretty big mammal," Nick said. "I bet you make a big loud sound when you fall."

Bogo laughs at the amount of denial Nick seems to be in. Nick laughs alongside Bogo, which only angers him. "And you think you can knock me down, do you?" Bogo says, anger in his voice.

Nick shakes his head no. "Me? No." Nick says. "But I am hoping that he can."

Bogo sees Nick's eyes dart to the side. Turning, Bogo stares at the back side of a wild mustang. Without warning, the mustang lifted up its hind rear high up and gave a quick and powerful hoof kick to Bogo's forehead. The force of the kick makes Bogo let go of Nick, who falls to the ground, heavy breathing. Bogo, knocked all the way back into the alley. Hitting the ground, immediately unconscious.

Nick gets off the ground and stands tall on his own two feet. He grabs all three of his gun belts off the ground and his hat. He slaps his Gambler's hat across his leg, knocking off any dirt. Nick looks down the alley where the unconscious Bogo lay. Turning to the light brown wild mustang, with a thick black mane and long white lines of fur down the center of the horse's face. The white stripes always made Nick think the horse was in war makeup. "Where the hell have you been?!" Nick yells at Argo, the mustang.

Argo looks back at Nick and blows him a horse like raspberry. Nick rolled his eyes at Argo. He rubs his neck where Bogo was choking him. Put his hat, snug like, back on his head, Nick approached Argo. Grabbed a hold of the thick leather saddle strapped to the horse's back, he hoisted himself up and swung his leg over, mounting Argo.

Reins in hand, Nick pats Argo on the side of his neck. "We have to get out of here boy," Nick says. "At least for a good while, till things can cool down again." Argo makes a loud whine and turns his neck and head down the alley at Bogo's body. "Trust me, he's fine. That water buffalo is tougher than you would think," Nick said. "He might have a hell of a headache when he wakes up, but if we don't get going, we'll be in an even worse situation. Come on boy." Nick makes a clicking sound with his mouth and gives a slight kick to Argo's behind, getting him to move. They head straight to the border of the Sahara district, and out of Zootopia. Making them feel safe for the time being.

**The Bad**   
_"You're smart enough to know that talking  
_ _won't save you."  
\- Angel Eyes, The Bad_

The morning sunlight shined down on a small farm. The farm had a chicken coop, a section with rows of vegetables, and a two-story house that was self-built. The house reflected the sun off its bright white clay structure. Though the house is two stories tall, and built to house smaller mammals. In this case a family of meerkats.

Outside, the man of the house was plowing rows to plant seed behind the house. A woman tended to the small patch of vegetables in the front of the house. She wore loose black and white sheets, to protect her from the sun. Last, a young meerkat boy, no older than thirteen, practiced training the horse they have in the small pin. The boy wore a thin cotton white shirt and pants. On top, his head was a straw sombrero, to his fitting.

The young meerkat kit looked up from the horse he was training, and out in the distance. There, he could make out a black rider growing bigger as he rode his way to him.

The young meerkat kit dropped the lead attached to the horse and hops over the pin, running to the house. Calling out to his father.

The rider approaching the house rode on a black stallion and wore all black, except around his waist was tied a blue scarf, and a silver star pinned to it. Riding atop the black steed was a weasel, and Weaselton was his name.

Nearing the white clay house, Weaselton led his horse, Shadow, to a trough filled with water. He slid off his horse and ropes the reins over a picket fence. Weaselton dusts off any dirt on the sleeves of his black coat. Right below the blue scarf, around his waist was the only gun belt he wore.

The leather of the gun belt was thick, and the oils used to keep it protected and not dry and crack, have dyed it black. The actual gun holster being placed in the center, where he would have to side draw the revolver from its holster. The revolver holstered in his belt was a .44 Remington 1858 New Army. The Remington dual toned, with a black cylinder and barrel, and a wild cherry polished handle with a golden brass oval trigger guard. On his face, Weaselton had a thin mustache that almost curled on the ends. Weaselton's last feature was his Stetson Black Hawk hat, with a round and flat base and a straight hardened rim.

Adjusting his hat, Weaselton makes his way to the house of meerkats. Approaching the house, the young meerkat boy came out of the house with a double barrel shotgun, pointing the barrels at Weaselton in fear. Weaselton did not stop, still approaching the house.

From behind the young meerkat, an older meerkat stepped outside and approached the young kit from the back. The older meerkat, putting one hand on the kit's shoulder and the other on the shotgun barrel, making him lower and let go of the gun. He whispered something into the kit's ear and directed him back into the house.

"Nice kit you got there, Baker," Weaselton said to the older meerkat. It was clear to Weaselton that the older meerkat, Baker, was the father to the young kit. The clothes Baker wore were white, loose, and thin weaved, to better breath and defend himself from the sun's heat.

"He will grow up strong in mind and body," said Baker. "But he still has a long way to go."

"Yeah," Weaselton chuckles. "Sure he will."

"I must admit, surprised to see you here, mí amigo," said Baker. "We usually agree on a location to meet. Never have you come to my house, where my wife and son live."

"Every time we meet. You always tell me how wonderful it is where you live. Decided I wanted to see the lovely place for myself" Weaselton said. "So far, your claims seem to be true."

Baker only nodded his head. "Well, I suppose you should come in then." Baker turned around and walked back into his house with the shotgun's barrels pointing down.

Weaselton followed behind Baker. Before entering, he stops and turns his head towards Baker's wife, who was harvesting some produce from the small garden. Weaselton stands there, watching. The female meerkat makes a quick glance up at Weaselton, locking eyes and sending a cold shudder down her spine. She turned back to tend her garden, scared to look back up at him.

Entering the house, Weaselton takes a look around. There was not much to admire. The house had a second floor, to which he could hear the young meerkat's footsteps above him. Baker offers him an empty seat at the end of their wooden table, which was across from the clay stairs leading up.

Baker placed the shotgun next to a built stove. Weaselton could smell the wafting aroma of food cooking. Baker opens the grill cage of the cast-iron oven, tossing in a few more splinters of wood, making the fire grow stronger.

"Are you hungry, mí amigo?" Baker asked.

"Famished" Weaselton says.

"My wife," Baker said, "is cooking one of her best dishes." Baker lifts open the top off the pot, and with a spoon, stirs the contents inside. "Unfortunately, I do not believe it is quite ready. But you are still welcome to some."

"A small plate will do," Weaselton said. "I don't plan on staying too long."

"Of course," Baker says.

"I've never seen your wife before," Weaselton says. "Now that I have, I must admit you are one lucky mammal. Because she looks like quite a gal."

"Gracious," says Baker. With the spoon, Baker poured a small sum of the pot's contents onto a plaster plate. Baker places the plate in front of Weaselton, along with two flat tortillas. Giving no thanks, Weaselton grabs and tears one of the tortillas into two, folding and scooping up the contents of the plate, like a spoon.

Baker takes notice of the blue scarf tied around Weaselton's waist and the silver looking badge pinned to it. "Since when did you decide to become a Zoo Ranger?" Baker asks.

Weaselton munches down on the tortilla. "I didn't decide," he says. "I was personally selected and offered the title, as a Zoo Ranger."

"I thought Rangers are to uphold the law?" Baker asks, with heavy sarcasm.

"And we do," Weaselton says. "We just prefer upholding the parts of the law that benefits us directly."

"I see," Baker says, laughing. Baker joins Weaselton, sitting at the other end of the table. "I hope your new promotion," Bakers says, loose use of the word promotion, "doesn't disrupt the relationship that we have?"

Weaselton smiles. "I am a mammal with many hats," Weaselton says.

"Good," Baker says, smiling. "So you're to tell me that the job is done?" Baker asks. "The thousand dollar job, involving the situation with Stevens, and any information he had?"

"I did," Weaselton says. "But first, the rest of what you owe." Weaselton, holding out the palm of his hand, awaiting payment. Baker stared into Wesaselton's eyes. Examining those eyes and smile of his.

Baker laughed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a billfold. "Has anyone ever told you, you have the eyes of an angel and the smile of the devil," Baker says.

"We're all devil's inside," said Weaselton. "I'm just lucky to always get the upper hand with my, so-called, angel eyes."

Baker slaps five hundred in cash into the palm of Weaselton's hand. Weaselton took the money and pockets it. Now that he has paid, Baker urges Weaselton to share what information he learned from Stevens. "He informed me of a train heading into Zootopia in a few days, a week or two at the most," Weaselton says. "Stevens said that the train is to be a big one. At least seven carts long." Weaselton explains everything that Stevens told him to Baker, all which puts a smile on Baker's face. "The train will be carrying a mixture of passengers and fresh produce. But the biggest storage cart on this train will be carrying up to $500,000 in golden coins," Weaselton says.

"What about security?" Baker asks. "Vaults to crack, steel-plated locked doors on the cart, and any armed security?"

"Yes to all," Weaselton says. "But nothing that can't be handled."

"Sounds like a big job to pull off," Baker said. "Best to get Mr. Big and his men involved to help." Baker, smiling so wide, laughed with joy from this news. Weaselton chuckles along with his employer. Weaselton shifts in his chair, as if adjusting something.

"Oh. There was one more thing Stevens told me, or rather asked of me, I should say." Weselton says. Weselton lowers his hand under the table. "Before shooting him dead and fulfilling our contract. Stevens asked if I would come here and kill you. At the fair price of a thousand dollars. The same amount you paid me to kill him." Baker gives a nervous laugh to what Weaselton was saying. "Stevens even offered the entire thousand upfront," Weaselton said, staring at Baker with his angel eyes. "I'm sorry Baker, but I'm not one to turn down a contract."

A loud _"BANG!"_ came from under the table. Baker jumps up, knocking his chair backward, after the feeling of hot metal that pierced his gut. Back against the wall, Baker looks down at his stomach which was now bleeding, turning his white shirt into a crimson red. Looking back up at Weaselton, who stands up out of his seat. Weaselton had his Remington revolver in his hand, which had swirling smoke coming out of the barrel. Baker grabbed and pressed down hard on the gunshot wound to his stomach.

"Papa?!" came a voice from upstairs. The rushing patter of feet heard above them. The young meerkat boy runs downstairs, but stops midway once seeing his father against the wall, bleeding. His eyes turn to Weaselton, who, without hesitation, redirects his revolver on the kit and fires.

The shot pierces the center of the boy's chest. Instant death. The young meerkat kit falls back against the white clay wall. With lifeless eyes the young boy's body slides down the staircase, leaving a red smear of blood on the wall.

"NO!" Baker shouts. Baker ran to the double barrel shotgun, stumbling over and grabbing the weapon. Weaselton was already on him firing another shot with his six iron. The bullet punched through Baker's chest. He pulled the trigger on the double barrel which only blew a hole through the roof. Baker dropped the gun and fell across the arch walkway. He crawled as best he could, Baker reached out for the gun. The hard sole of a boot pressed hard against his side, making him squeal with pain. The bottom of the boot gives him a hard push, turning him onto his back.

Weaselton stands on top of his former employer, pushing the heel of his boot hard against Barker's bleeding bullet holes. Weaselton, felt like this was a moment to share words, but he was never one for making conversation. Instead, Weaselton looks down at Baker, aims his revolver, and fires a shot into Baker's chest, causing a burst of blood to spray across the wall and onto Weaselton's coat.

Weaselton's attention goes to the open door as he heard the frantic yells of a female. Turning and standing at the doorway, was Baker's wife. She gives a fearful cry, seeing her husband dead on the floor and Weaselton standing over him.

Weaselton watched her. Waiting, and wanting, to see what she planned on doing. She looks up at Weaselton. Baker's wife covers her mouth with her hand and tears in her eyes. She takes a few steps back in the sheer shock of it all.

As quick as she can, she turned and ran as fast as she could. Wanting to escape the dangerous mammal in black. Weaselton extends his firing arm holding the Remington revolver and takes aim. With one shot, Weaselton fires and hits his running target, square in the back. The female meerkat fell face forward, on to the ground.

Weaselton lowers his gun but does not holster the weapon. He made his way out of the meerkat's house. Approaching the female meerkat, Weaselton can see a red blood stain growing on her back. Weaselton watches with his angel eyes, seeing that the female meerkat was still alive and breathing. As he walked around her, he heard her gasping for air. Weaselton wanted to see her grasp onto her last dying breath. Weaselton must admit, she was a very beautiful looking female meerkat.

"Such a waste," Weaselton said. Weaselton raised his revolver at the female meerkat. Cocked and primied the hammer on his gun, he took aim at her head. Then, Weaselton the Bad, pulled the trigger.

* * *

 **The Good**   
_"Every gun has its own tune" - Blondie, The Good_

A thick white mist encased the entire forest in the early morning. The fog lay thick closest to the ground. This would prove useful, and also a bit worrisome, for Judy as she marches as quiet as she can through the woods. The sound of crackling leaves and snapping twigs under her feet as she moves.

The thick fog would help provide her with the extra cover and hard to spot at a distance. Yet, encased in all this fog would make it harder for Judy to hit her target. There was too much on the line for her to not miss.

Judy reached her forest destination. A flatbed rock, sticking out the side of the mountain. The rock bed was big enough for her to lay down and take an aiming position. The foundation also had a clear line of view to the town's hanging tree.

It was the day before yesterday when Judy found this spot to take a position. She would come to this spot and practice taking up aiming posts using only a long stick of wood as a rifle, on the flat solid rock. Judy wanted to familiarise herself with the area and wanted to make sure she could pull off what she wanted to do. For in her hands, Judy held her father's 1860 Henry Rifle.

That morning, Judy got up extra early. Hours when it was still dark outside, and her family won't wake for another few hours. Upon waking up she slipped on her boots. From her pantry closet, Judy grabs a few blankets and two leather straps, laying them all on the bed. As quiet as she could be, Judy sneaks into her parent's room and takes her father's rifle off the wall mount without proper permission. Carrying the rifle back to her room, Judy places it in the center of the blankets. Folding the sheets with the rifle inside. Using the two leather straps to tie the blankets closed, she now had a makeshift rifle case that she could sling over her shoulder.

Before leaving the house, Judy also grabbed her father's coat. The coat's thick fabric would help protect her from any thorns and sharp branches, not to mention cover up the fact that she was still in her nightgown. The jacket's coating would also add an extra layer of cushion for her while lying on the rock bed. Wearing her father's coat, Judy couldn't believe the jacket is a little too big for her. Judy was no longer some little kit anymore. She was a grown Bunny, the oldest of her siblings. Yet, here, wearing her father's coat, Judy still felt like a little kit bunny playing dress up. The last item of clothing Judy grabs is her ivory colored Brick hat. The very same hat the store-keep gave her, on her first visit to Zootopia. After 15 years she finally has grown into the hat, fitting her as close to perfect as the hat could. Folding her long gray rabbit ears back and placing the hat on her head. She tightens the leather strap under her chin.

The last item Judy took with her, before leaving the Hopp Ranch was a single bullet. Most would see it impractical, taking only one round to fire. But, Judy knew if she had to fire more than one shot, then all would be lost. Firing another shot could give away her position. Shooting more than one bullet would mean failure, and all would be for nothing.

With the rifle in hand, Judy could not help but feel a knot of guilt twisting in her stomach. As far as she knows, no one knew she was out in the woods this early. Taking a deep breath, Judy takes her position on the flatbed of rock. Shifting her position till she felt comfortable and let the end of the barrel rest on a large broken tree branch, which would also help her prop the barrel up for a better aim. Judy digs in her father's coat, searching for the one bullet she has. Feeling the round head lead and brass shell casing bullet with the tips of her fingers. Pulling the bullet out of her pocket and loading it into the 1860 Henry. Judy flips up the rifle's Iron Sights to help calculate the distance from her target. Her aim has gotten better since shooting glass bottles with her father. With practice, she's had luck shooting over a hundred yards with the rifle. Her target today was more to the liking of a hundred and fifty yards, give or take.

She ignored the knot feeling in her stomach. I can do this, she thought. Judy props up the blue tapered barrel of the rifle on the log. Burying the walnut polished butt of the gun into her shoulder. Adjusting the Iron Sights on the Henry Rifle and taking aim. Looking down at her target, Judy can see the local law enforcement of Bunny Burrow, preparing another execution on the hanging tree. Watching as one raccoon tossed a noose tied rope over a branch.

The criminal sentenced to be hanged, a young male bunny, like herself, caught stealing food for his family. Though Judy can agree with the law that the rabbit has committed a criminal act. But sentenced to hang, till death? The dumb rabbit only hoped he could get a little more food for his family. How can anyone blame him? Any other mammal with their backs against the wall would do the same if put in such a position.

Judy watched down at the law enforcement. Coming into view, she could see a pig lead a horse towards the tree. Riding atop of the horse, hands tied behind his back, was the convicted rabbit.

Once under Bunny Burrow's Hanging tree, the raccoon slips the hangman's noose around the rabbit's neck. With a firm tug on the rope, making it tight around the rabbit's neck. Watching, Judy cocks the rifle's lever and takes aim a little above the rabbit, and at the rope around the young rabbit's neck.

She has to time her shot just right. Which would be before one of the law officers slaps the horse's rear, making the horse gallop away and leaving the young bunny hanging, that would be her only chance to fire and help the young rabbit escape. When Judy shoots the rope, and the horse gallops off, the young rabbit will stay on and be given a second chance. From there, whatever decision the rabbit makes would be none of her concern. Judy takes in a deep breath and lets half of it out, exactly the way her father taught her.

The pig that led the horse to the hanging tree approaches the rear of the horse with a leather riding crop. Judy, with gentle care, places her finger on the trigger. The pig raises the crop whip over his head. Judy, the Good, sees her chance and squeezes the rifle's trigger.

The gun fires, giving a hard kick and bellowing a blast of fire out of the barrel. The pig's crop whip slaps down hard on the horse's rear. By that time, the officers were just now hearing the gunshot from Judy, turning their attention in her general area. If they bothered looking up, they might have noticed that a segment of the rope was now severed. Or, instead, seeing the rope segment bursting into tiny little fibers.

The horse made a loud whine feeling the leather crop hard on its behind. As predicted, the horse gallops off. The only difference being the rabbit still stayed put on the horses back. It took the BunnyBurrow law enforcement a minute to realize what had happened. They draw their pistols, not sure if they should open fire, or not.

For Judy, she did what she hoped to do. She has no intention of sticking around to see what happens. Getting up from her spot, rifle in hand, heading her way back. She makes her way through the woods with haste.

Bending under a few thick branches, Judy walks into an open area of the woods. Tied to a tree branch, was a beautiful cream colored mare. "Luna," Judy called out, not wanting to be too loud. Afraid any louder would draw unwanted attention.

Luna, a cream-colored Arabian horse with a white diamond shape on her forehead. Luna turns her head to Judy's call and gives a horse like whine, and shakes her head. Judy approaches Luna and runs her rabbit hand across Luna's back. Judy has always taken care of Luna. Ever since she was born by her family's old mare.

"Let's go home, girl," Judy says. Judy slips the Henry rifle into the makeshift rifle case she made with the blankets and slings it over her back. Untying Luna from the tree branch, Judy hops on top of Luna's back. Judy didn't have the time to properly saddle Luna this morning. All Judy could do was grab Luna's reins and ride her bareback. Holding tight to the reins, Judy gives Luna a gentle kick with her boot, in the direction of home. Luna, rearing her head, gallops towards the Hopps family ranch. Judy only hopes that they make it there before anyone wakes, specifically her father.

Judy didn't know how long it took her and Luna to get back to the ranch. When arriving, there didn't seem to be any activity inside the house. Jumping down off Luna, Judy grabs her makeshift rifle case and the reins off Luna.

When it came to relationships, Judy cared very little of the male bunnies in her hometown. The tightest relationship she has, other than with her family, was with Luna at her side. Judy didn't need to walk Luna to her pin. Luna knew what Judy expected her to do.

Judy makes her way inside the house, as quiet as she can, hoping not to wake anyone. Inside, Judy takes her father's coat off and hangs it on the hook by the door. Leaving Judy to stand there in her nightgown. Tiptoeing down the hall, she pulls the Henry rifle out of the bundle of blankets and tossing into her room. She continues down to her parent's bedchamber. Opening the door as slow as she can. Judy winced at the squeak sound the door made.

Poking her head in the room, there in bed slept her mother and father. Judy was glad to hear the loud snores from her father. Makes things easier knowing that he's in a deep sleep. Sneaking in, Judy tiptoes to the homemade gun rack on the wall and places the 1860 Henry Rifle back onto the display.

A loud shuffle comes from the bed. Judy stops cold. Fearing that she's caught in the act. Her mouth felt dry. Any moment she would hear the bellowing voice of her father in anger. Only, nothing happened. Turning her head to the bed and seeing her father still asleep. Judy felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Mounting the gun on the wall, Judy makes her exit. She tiptoes back to her room and closes the door. Kicking off her boots, she looks into a mirror to her right, reminding her that she still wore her ivory Brick hat atop her head. Releasing a sigh of relief, Judy walks to her bed, taking off her hat. Before placing the hat on her bedpost, she looks at an old blotchy stain on the hat. A stain from the blood of a particular Fox, from a long time ago.

Placing her hat on the bedpost, Judy slides under the covers of her bed. Turning on her side and plopping a pillow under her head. Laying there, she can't help but smile. Judy almost couldn't believe what she had pulled off. Though, the mammals of this town will see it as a heinous criminal act, making her a criminal. The thought made her lose her smile. Judy pushed the notion out of her mind. Once everyone wakes up, Judy would turn back into the daughter of a farmer, and nothing more.

* * *

The day came to an end. The sun's rays were gone, and the only source of light came from the illuminating moon and the stars across the night sky. Nick Wilde and his mustang Argo, took refuge under a dogwood tree. He built himself a small fire and a pale to fill with water for Argo, pouring half his canteen into.

Although Nick would much rather be back in his secret bunker hidden in Zootopia, he always found a way to make due. In his lap, Nick looks through his sketchbook, like the one his father used to draw up his sketches for holsters, saddles, gun cases, and leather embroidering. Nick has spent the last few nights trying to draw up a model sketch for a rifle case. A rifle case made with thick boiled leather, yet flexible for any type of rifle and have a lite weight to carry anywhere. The only trouble was figuring out the dimensions to use, not knowing what mammal would cater to the case. Nick uses his own dimensions or the aspects for other mammals close to his size.

Nick pulls out his whiskey-filled flask from his trench coat. Taking a swig from the flask, he shakes his head both at the alcohol's burning sensation sliding down his throat and at his sketching. Raising the tin flask to take another shot of whiskey when he's stopped by Argo giving him a firm nudge on his shoulder. Nick knew what Argo wanted or was asking for, to which Nick complied. Nick pours half of his whiskey-filled flask into Argo's pale. Argo buried his head into the pale, gulping every last drop of the sweet intoxicating elixir. Looking back at his drawings, Nick shakes his head and tears the sketch from his book. _It needs to be better,_ thinking Nick.

Taking the torn paper, Nick tosses it into the fire. Every failed sketch drawing he tears up or sets on fire, makes him wish all the more that his father was alive. His pictures were not even close to how great his father's skets were.

Nick puts his sketchbook away and leans back on the dogwood tree. He lets the fire die out and bundles up under a blanket. Using Argo's saddle as a pillow, Nick pulls his Gamblers hat over his eyes and tries to get some rest, all the while keeping a loose grip on his 1860 Army Revolver.

In Zootopia, Weaselton sits in one of the luxurious Inns, admiring the line up of whores, rolling a silver dollar over his knuckles. Trying to decide which one, or two, he'll take for the night. As these were high-class harlots, a night with them would cost a pretty penny which Weaselton could only laugh about. The good thing about being an enlisted Zoo Ranger is that he had no intention of paying for a great piece of ass. Only if they wanted him to use his powers as an upholder of the law on them.

Weaselton smiles. Soon, this whole city will know the power and destruction that happens when he doesn't get his way. Starting tonight with the line up of these harlots.

Miles away from Zootopia, at the Hopps Ranch. A hard day's work on the ranch had come to an end. The produce they harvested would be leaving for Zootopia in the morning. To Judy's disappointment, she would not be traveling with her father this time. Instead, as the oldest Hopps sibling, she would be overseeing the farm. A boring, yet essential, task that falls on her shoulders. Looking up at the stars in the sky, Judy couldn't help having the feeling of hope. Hope that something special will come to her one day, and soon. Hope to leave this mundane life, and pursue something greater in this world; whether it be in Zootopia, or someplace beyond Zootopia, it will be something magnificent.


	3. Missing

"If I stay here very long, I might misbehave. Somebody might have to kill me."  
-The Missing, 2003

Judy dreamed. She dreamed she was riding on the back of Luna and they were riding fast. She couldn't remember the last time she rode so fast. Keeping pace with a locomotive, she cut straight through Bunny Burrow, through mountainsides, pastures, and every district in Zootopia. She couldn't help but feel so alive. No small town, or endless farm work, or responsibility of caring for her siblings. She and Luna were free, and she never wanted to stop.

"Judy!" a voice calls out, "Judy!" it calls out again, followed by the heavy pounding on her hard oak wood door, ending the dream. "Mama wants everyone up and making sure everything is set for Pa's trip."

Judy groans as she pulls the quilted covers to the side. Swinging her legs out, and letting her bare feet touch the cold wooden floor. Judy takes off her nightgown and stretches her arms and legs while looking at herself in the mirror.

Looking at her naked self in the mirror, Judy can't help but feel a bit of pride at how well she has grown into her body. Small, slender, and muscular, nonstop farm work helped with that. Her breast, perfect in her mind, not too big or too small. She has noticed a few male mammals that can't help but take a quick glance before turning away in shame. The only thing about her body that brought bother was the scar across her left cheek. Though invisible to most, Judy could still see the faint scar, a scar from a fox's knife a long time ago.

Stepping away from the mirror to her wardrobe, it did not contain much in the way of clothing. There was her nightgown of course and her labor dress to wear while working on the farm. She did have a fancy dress that she did not care much for, but wore for Sunday mass or during festivities and town celebrations. Judy's favorite dress was a regular pale blue one, that she would wear while running errands in town. But the reason she liked it the most, was because it made her feel free, like in her dream. Not tethered down to Bunny Burrow like the other dresses.

Judy pulled the plain blue dress from her wardrobe and slipped it on. Next, slipping her feet into thin white stockings and brown leather boots, that gave a crinkling sound. The last item of clothing for Judy was her Brick Cowgirl hat, which she hung on her bedpost.

Leaving her room, Judy searches for her siblings. The sun had not even peeked over the horizon, the farm shrouded in a thin mist. Judy could see her younger siblings making sure the harvest was in the carriage, her older siblings were leading Bruce, the old stallion, to the wagon. She, however, only stood back and supervised; as the oldest, she figures she did her part when she was their age.

Checking over her siblings' work, making sure they hitched Bruce to the wagon. With everything in order, Judy went back inside to help herself to a bowl of porridge that her mother was cooking.

In the back, Judy could hear her father getting ready, praying, and mumbling to himself. Then the familiar sound of bullets loaded into the 1860 Henry Rifle.

Her father's footsteps grew louder. Judy sat at the family table, finishing off her porridge as quickly as possible. Her father enters with the rifle in hand, going over to the coat rack and putting on his thick wool jacket and round top hat. He looks over at Judy.

"Judy..." Stu starts in a soft and tender voice, "You wouldn't happen to have taken my rifle and gone for some early morning target practice, would you?"

Judy tenses, she tries calming herself, and continues to eat her porridge as if it was her only concern.

"No, Pa," said Judy, hoping there wasn't the tiniest quiver in her voice, "You know I don't use your rifle without your say."

"That's good, the authorities in town were going to execute a mammal yesterday morning. But, he escaped, still had the noose around his neck too. They think he had some accomplice helping him. Some sharp shooter, or at least someone with good aim."

"Sounds like quite a character."

"If you ask me, it's hard to believe that a great marksman like that would acquaint themselves with some, low-level bread thief," Stu walks up behind his daughter. At this point, Judy was only pretending to still be eating, her wooden spoon was doing nothing but scraping the bottom of the bowl.

He leans over her and places a small object in front of Judy: a bullet shell.

Judy took in a nervous gulp. Looking at the empty shell Judy realizes that it's the shell to the bullet she fired, the same casing she fired to cut the rope around that young rabbit's neck, she never ejected the shell. Stupid, careless, why did I not remove the round?

"Next time, eject the cartridge," Stu said, "A fired shell in the chamber could cause rust and jam the lever."

Judy was speechless, this was not what she was expecting. She felt her father lift up her hat and place a loving kiss atop her head. Stu heads for the door. She couldn't help but smile and laugh at her father's unforseen response.

Judy stands up from the table. There's still time to tell Pa goodbye, she thought, running outside. Stu was already settling himself in the wagon, with the rifle by his side. Judy climbs up and wraps her arms around her father, planting a loving kiss on his cheek.

"Don't worry about anything, I'm here to make sure all is in order."

"I know. Jude, the dude," Stu says, calling her by the nickname he would use. "Can't think of anyone better. I know you wish you could be my ride along, how excited you would get, traveling with me. But your mother isn't as spry as she once was and needs all the help she can get with the kits, the farm, and anything else." Stu places his hand on his daughter's soft cheek. "You know, you look as beautiful as your mother when I first met her. You have her beauty, her heart, and her gumption. I'm glad all you got from me was being hard headed. Always try to do the unexpected and show goodness to others." Stu gives Judy one last hug and a kiss to the forehead.

Stepping off the wagon, Judy walks up beside Bruce. She moves her hand across his side in a smooth motion and scratches behind his ear. Bruce lowers his head, allowing Judy to scratch and whispers, "Take care of him, you old stallion.".

Stu whips the leather reins and they start heading out. Judy watches her father grow smaller and smaller until he is no longer in sight.

For the rest of the day, Judy spent the rest of the day riding Luna around town. Of course she ran some errands for her mother if she was going to be out riding. There was one place in particular that Judy has wanted to see: the construction of the railroad.

It was fascinating to think of the craftsmen and engineering behind the railroad. What would take three days to reach Zootopia, could now happen within three hours.

Judy brought Luna to a trot, making sure that they weren't in the way of construction. Several groups working on different things: one group shoveling gravel, another laying down large shaven wood blocks, and the last group moving the heavy steel tracks.

Most mammals were too busy to notice her, though a few would look up at her and take their hats off in courtesy. And a few Judy could feel undressing her with their eyes, those mammals made her feel sick to her stomach. She tries to ignore them and continues on, giving Luna a swift kick to the side to speed up.

A few days pass and Judy's father has yet to return. Though she expected this, he'd only been gone four days at most. During that time, she kept her word: working on the farm, doing her chores, taking care of the little ones, and helping her mother with whatever was needed.

After the fifth day had come and gone, Judy stayed up late, looking out into the distance hoping to see her father riding in. Staying in the barn, as long as she could to take care of Luna. Every now and then, she would look up from her work, hoping to see Stu riding down the road. Before retiring for the night, she would look out one more time before going in.

On the sixth day, her mother asked her to run some errands in town. Judy was glad to do such a task, anything to get out and ride Luna. By the time Judy got back to the farm, visitors had arrived.

A small buggy carriage parked right outside her house, only capable of holding one or two mammals, max. Though, it all depends on their size and what mammal they might be.

Judy gives a hard kick to Luna's side, sending her into a gallop. Oh no, what does he want now? The carriage's paint job was blood red with black trim, the side painted in gold lettering: WELSON BANKING CO. Judy pulls on Luna's reins, making her come to a stop. The driver, a sheep, seemed to be asleep, his hat pulled down over his eyes and legs propped up.

Judy slides off of Luna, who was heaving with heavy breaths.

Running inside, she sees her mother talking with the two uninvited guests: Warren Welson, in a black tailored suit, with black leather shoes, his ears pinned back, turns to Judy to deliver her a smug smile; next to him was his son, Andrew Welson, wearing a similar looking suit, only in a pale gray and a black Derby hat.

Andrew, seeing Judy enter, stood up and took off his hat, wanting to appear like a modest gentleman. Andrew always seemed like a scrawny rabbit to Judy, and she could from early on see that he had a crush on her. Andrew wrings the edges of his hat,trying to get his nerves under control.

"Why, Judy Hopps," Andrew starts in such a shy manner, rocking back and forth on his toes, "It is always a pleasure to be in your presence."

"It's good to see you as well, Andrew," Judy replied. Unlike Darren, she had no feelings of being courted by Andrew or vice versa. In her eyes, he came off looking like a coward. Yet, he did seem to be the only one to hold any compassion for families in Bunny Burrow that suffered under the thumb of the Welson family, it must be the one thing Judy admired about Andrew. In a family of vultures, he was the only one who seemed to have a heart.

"Mr. Welson," Judy says, grabbing his attention, "Would you mind telling me why you have come to, once again, torment my family?"

"If you insist," Warren said, still with that smug smile on his face. Andrew sat back down, but could not help but steal a few quick glances at Judy. "We were in the middle of discussing with your mother the late payment on a loan."

"And as I was telling Mr. Welson," Judy's mother said, "We have had a late harvest. And a late harvest means a late distribution of our produce. And a late distribution of our produce means that there will be a late collection of money to pay the loan we owe, Mr. Welson."

"I hope you understand," Mr. Welson said, "That late payments on the loan could cause great suffering to you and your family."

"If I didn't know any better, I would say that sounds like a threat," glared Judy.

"No no," said Andrew in a slight panic, "We only want to bring this issue to your attention. The last thing we want is for the problem to become worse without your knowledge."

"Well, we appreciate your concern for our well being, Andrew," Judy said, wanting to be sympathetic with the only good Welson, "Shame your father lacks such concern. It's been six days since my father left for Zootopia. It should be no surprise if he returns in a few days time. Then you'll get your bloody money."

"If that is so," He packs up the papers into his black leather bag. "Then we will see you ladies in four-no, how about in three days." Warren turns to his son. "Let us make haste, we have a few more stops to make before the day's end."

Warren and his son, gather their things before heading out the door. Before Andrew leaves the Hopps' home, he turns to talk to Judy. "W-W-Well," Andrew tried to say, trying to control his nervous sputter, "It's always great to see you, Judy. I only wish the visit was under better circumstances."

Judy did not respond, upsetting Andrew a bit. Yet, gathering what little dignity he has, leaves the Hopps residents.

The next few days seem to be long and frustrating to Judy. Every morning and evening she would look down the dirt road from their house. Expecting to see her father returning from his trip. She would spend her evenings taking care of Luna as long as she could, cleaning and brushing her mane and coat. On the eighth day of her father's trip, panic and worry were building up inside her. It has never taken Pa this long to make his trip to Zootopia. Maybe he just got held up, there was that storm that came in through the North East. That could have caused the roads to be harder to travel on, she hopes.

The ninth morning, Judy runs outside to see if her father was riding down the dirt trail. Only, he wasn't. This isn't right, she thought, He's never been gone this long. Judy couldn't wait for her father to come home any longer, it was time to take matters into her own hands and bring her father back home, wherever he may be.

Judy ran to the barn, grabbing a leather saddle, she has never taken Luna on such a long trip before. Most of their excursions involved riding around Bunny Burrow making errand runs; so there was never any need to put a saddle on Luna before.

The only clothes she would be bringing were her pale blue dress, boots, and her ivory Brick hat. But there was one item she needed if she was planning on traveling the road by herself.

Judy runs inside and goes to the dining room cupboard, the noise wakes her mother. "Judy, what are you doing?" Bonnie asked, concerned.

"Somethings wrong," Judy said, not even looking at her mother. No, it's not here, she thought. Judy closes the drawer and looks up. Of course, she thought. The safest place for it to be: on top of the cupboard, so the little ones don't get a hold of it.

Reaching up on her tippy toes, Judy runs her hand across the top of the cupboard; pulls down a single barrel shotgun, one perfect for her height and stature. The weapon was to be a secret that only Bonnie knew about, for the most extreme emergencies.

"Something's wrong," Judy repeated. "I'm going to get father and bring him home." She scanned the top of the cupboard again, finding a casing of shells; She empties the entire box onto the table, scattering rounds. She grabs a handful of shells and shoves them into her pockets, and loads another into the shotgun's barrel.

"Judy," her mother starts, pleading, "Think about this, you're going to get yourself hurt."

"Mama," Judy said, "If I don't go, I don't know what might happen to Pa. I have to try." She hugs her mother. "I'll be home before you know it, promise" Judy said.

Letting go of her mother, Judy, shotgun in hand, ran outside to where Luna waitied. She jumps up and slungs her leg over Luna's saddle and tightens the leather straps on her brick so it wouldn't fly off.

"Come on girl. Let's go save Pa." With a kick from her boot, Luna sped down the dirt road.

However a certain buggy stopped her in her path, the Welson Banking buggy, pulled by two stallions and its red and black painting.

I have no time to argue over loans and payments. Still, Judy had to bring Luna to a complete stop. The door to the Welson buggy flings open revealing Andrew, to her surprise, clean and snazzy as always. He ran towards Judy, waving his hands high above his head, and the social convention held her hostage to hear him out.

"Judy!" Andrew called out. "Am I glad that you are the first Hopps I came across."

"What do you want?" Judy demanded, every second spent speaking with this nervous jittering fool, dwindling her odds of finding her father.

"I came here to collect on your payment, and it's only me," he said with glee as if a kit accomplished a task on their own. "I was even able to convince my father to give you more time. That way, your family would have the money well insure, and-"

"We don't have your money," Judy says, cutting Andrew off mid-sentence. Andrew's happy expression turns into worry confusion.

"But, but, you said your family would have the money well in hand," Andrew said, "I even convinced my father to give you an extra day to have the payment. What am I supposed to tell him when I return?"

"Tell him he will get his payment, tell him that," Judy tries to keep her anger out of her voice, "Tell him that one way or another, your father will get his... his damn payment."

Judy raises Luna's reins and starts moving past the Welson Banking buggy. "There are more important things at hand right now," said Judy. Trotting past the carriage, Judy gets Luna moving with a quick kick, racing down the path her father has taken for years.

Judy races Luna down the trail as fast as she could. Stopped only to give Luna some rest and water, or ask any travelers for sightings of her father.

By day's end, Judy came up empty. There were only a few travelers along she encountered and none of them ever seeing any rabbit that matched her father's description.

The sun's light was leaving the land and replaced by darkness. Judy needed to give Luna a break; in fact, sleep would do both of them some good, but rest was not an option. It was still a two day ride to Zootopia at most. Though, Luna was a faster traveler than Bruce could ever be. If Judy and Luna were to travel straight for Zootopia, they would make it there with more than a half-day to spare. Her father could be anywhere between where she was and Zootopia.

Judy dismounted Luna, trying to speed through the trail at night could bring harm to both of them. She rifled through her gear and pulled out a lantern. It took some adjusting, but Judy pulled it off; in one hand she held Luna's reins and the lamp, the other hand held the single barrel shotgun, lowered at her hip, but ready to use if necessary. She shivers from the cold country air. They kept themselves at a steady pace; shining the lantern in all directions. Judy walked all night, with no luck on finding her father.

By dawn, a thick fog concealed the trail, so thick that Judy could only see an inch in front of Luna. The frustration of this cost her more precious time finding her father. Nevertheless, they moved forward.

Judy must have ridden for hours and the fog had still refused to ease up. Up ahead, she could make out a shadow in the mist. She squinted, What is that?

They approach the shadow slowly. Judy raises the shotgun. The closer they got, the more Judy could identify. It was a supply wagon carriage, more importantly it was her father's wagon carriage.

Sliding off of Luna, wanting to be ready for the unexpected. Approaching the wagon she could see it no longer had Bruce hooked up.

Not paying attention, she stumbles over something large and heavy. Laying on the ground was a dead llama dressed in a heavy black fur coat. Clenched in the llama's hands was an old hunting musket. Though a ghastly sight, at least it wasn't her father.

From above, came the loud screeching "caw" of a crow, it swoops down, landing in the back of the wagon. Listening, Judy could hear the loud screeching of other birds, not only one crow then. Judy points the shotgun up into the air and fires, the loud blast sends them flying.

Fearing the worst, she jumps up to see the back of the wagon. Whatever attracted those scavengers, was something dead.

To Judy's horror, it was another dead mammal, but not her father. In fact, the dead mammal was another llama, though this one did not clutch any weapon. What was horrifying was that the left side of the llama's face was gone, blown off by some blast. The vultures and crows have eaten well, if the ripped holes in his chest and stomach were any indication.

Standing atop the wagon, Judy scans the area. The thick mist was starting to clear, giving her a better view. There were a total of five dead mammals, including the one in the back, scattered around the wagon. Empty casings littered the carriage and ground. Where do I even start?

Ejecting the fired shell and slipping another scatter bullet, Judy examined bodies. A large llama clutching a small flintlock pistol, a Jackal looked upward with a bullet hole between his eyes. The strangest of all was the coyote, it looked like it had been smashed or trampled on repeatedly. It looked like the death of these mammals, minus one, were made in quick speed and reaction. A skill something she knew her father to have. Yet, nothing told her where her father could be.

She spotted a trail of blood leading up to the rock sloops, the grass looking as if something dragged along. Up ahead appeared to be another flock of crows and vultures. Judy fires another round, scattering them.

She looks down and bursts into tears. Laying on the ground, was their horse, Bruce.

Judy found a bullet hole in his neck and another in his abdomen. The worst was that the crows and vultures made a good meal of him. The flesh ripped away from Bruce's skull and ribs. One crow or vulture had pecked out Bruce's left eye.

Kneeling down, Judy ran her hand of what was left of their draft horse, he didn't deserve such cruelty. A crow lands in front of Judy, gives a loud screech, then begins to peck at Bruce's ear, ripping a piece off.

Grabbing hold of her gun, she swings it hard at the crow, hoping to smash it. Her swing misses and the crow flies off, but not before giving a few more loud "caws." It felt as if the damn bird was mocking her grief. "Your horse is dead, caw! I ripped flesh from his ear, caw! Too bad, so sad, caw! Caw!"

Why must Death be so cruel? Even after he takes the lives of the ones we love, must he degrade them like this? Focus, drying her tears away.

The blood trail extended up toward the rocky ledge. Judy reloads the gun and follows the blood trail. The fog was still a bit thick, so she treads lightly. She calls out to her father. Nothing.

A low grunt came from the side. Judy swung around, ready to fire. She follows the grunting noises and stops when she sees a figure, lowers the gun to her side. Judy couldn't help bursting into tears again. "Oh, Papa."


	4. Chapter 4

_"Call it. Friendo."_

\- No Country for Old Men, 2007

_"For a one-leg rancher... he's one tough Son of a Bitch!"_

\- 3:10 to Yuma, 2007

.

It took five days for Stu to enter the city of Zootopia. Heavy rainfall causing a slight delay in his arrival. So much has changed over the years. The building of the train stations has helped bring mammals from all around the world.

Stu starts his descent into the city. He takes notice of all that has changed. Starting like he always has when coming to Zootopia to sell his produce. First, with Sahara Square, where the least amount of change has affected the area. The buildings have gotten more prominent, and the traffic on the road has grown. But, Still had that simple style approach — the structures built from planks of wood and dirt-covered roads. Though recent activity has shown there to be much action, the Swearengen Inn set on fire. It was severely damaged, but the structure still held together.

Next was Tundratown. In the passing of years, they found a way to make it colder for the mammals living there and using large skyward tents to shield more of the area from the sun. And with fast transport of railroads, allowing large blocks of ice to import into the sector of the city. Stu even buddles up in his coat as he enters the district.

Then it was off to the Rainforest District, where they have built an irrigation system to allow heavy downpours to be more frequent. And last was Savanna Central. The weather always seems to be perfect. Savanna Central can now accommodate large and small mammals. Mammals big and tall giraffes and elephants. A new district was under construction in Savanna Central. It was being called Little Rodentia and would be housing the smallest of the smallest mammals. Still at the center of Savanna Central was the clock tower, looking pristine as always. And Stu's favorite thing about visiting Savanna Central, and always his last stop in Zootopia, was visiting his good old friend's store. Mike's Trading Goods.

"There you go, Stu," said Mike, the old skunk of Savanna Central. "Wish I could give you more Stu," said Mike.

He looks at the old skunk storekeeper with his circular glasses. Stu notices that most of his fur has turned Gray with age and has moved slower throughout the years.

"It's okay, Mike," said Stu, reassuring his old friend and pocketing the money in his billfold and placing it inside his jacket pocket. "As long as I have enough in my pocket to keep the bank to stop harassing my family, a little of what's leftover. There's nothing more that I need."

"Ever since opening this shop, I've only seen the buildings around me become bigger and bigger. Which means more for me to compete with," said Mike.

"It's no problem," Stu said. "I value you as a friend over someone I do business with." Looking down at the money, Stu sees how beneficial to the farm it will be. Hopeful, its enough pay Welson's Banking and keep them off his back for a while.

The bell above the door _"chimes"_ at the sound of a customer coming into the store. Stu and Mike turn to see who their new store companion to be. Standing by the door was a large water buffalo dressed in heavy dark leather. He wore a large Denton style hat. It was black and worn well, and the dusty winds staining the hat. With his hat tucked down, making it hard to see his face. He wore a blue steel large 1951 Navy Conversion pistol with an ivory handle grip. The water buffalo had the revolver strapped and holstered to his right hip. Poking out of his jacket, was the handle of a Howitzer double-barrel shotgun, holstered under his left arm. His boots were big and black, with steel-tips on the front and spurs on the back. Making loud _"thud"_ and _"clinking"_ sounds as he walked.

Though the water buffalo had his hat tuckered down, Stu was able to notice the wrinkles of age on his face and a deep cut that went up the left side of his lip. It made it look as if he had a constant grudge against something. A gold badge pinned to the left side of his thick leather duster. The imprinted on the golden star was the word: "SHERIFF."

The Sheriff makes his way to the coffee pot Mike had on the burner. Without saying hello or asking permission, the Sheriff grabs a tin cup from Mike's shelf and helps himself to the pitcher of coffee.

"Sheriff," said Mike. "How goes your day?"

The Sheriff makes a loud _"grunt"_ noise. "Like a goddamn circus with no Ring Master and every single thing is set on fire," said the Sheriff. He fills his cup with coffee. Stu watches the thick black liquid pour into his tin cup.

"Sheriff," Mike says. "This here is Stu Hopps, from Bunny Borrow. Stu's been helping supply Zootopia with some of the best produce since he was first able to harvest the ripe vegetables from his farm."

"How do you do, sir?" asks Stu, taking a step forward and offering his hand to the large water buffalo. The Sheriff does not take Stu's hand in appreciation, or even bothers looking at Stu. Stu could feel the heavy tension coming from the Sheriff.

"Nice to meet ya," said the Sheriff. He raises his cup and takes a large sip of the black nectar.

"Sorry, Stu. Sheriff Cliff Bogo isn't one for words or greetings. But, he's a damn fine sheriff for Zootopia. And his son makes a great deputy. " Mike reassures Stu. "How is your son doing?" Mike asks. The Sheriff stops and gives a hard glance and a loud annoyed grunt at Stu and Mike. "Like I said, a damn fine Sheriff for Zootopia."

"For now, I'm Sheriff," said Cliff. "It won't be long before the Mayor, and his assistant decides there's no need for me. Let mammals of Zootopia have their self means of justice. Then all of Hell will break loose. They already have these Zoo Rangers intitled to be judge, jury, and executioner. Now my son's actions in Sahara District, the Mayor has become a bigger pain in my ass. Destroying property, hiring Zoo Rangers with money he doesn't have, and causing injuries to one mammal. And for what? For one outlaw, which he failed to capture."

"Is the mammal all right?" Stu asks. "The mammal that got injured?"

"Fortunate for him, and unfortunate for me, yes. Though the medics had to lop off his right arm, too badly damaged, and with only one arm, Assistant Mayor has revoked his title of being a Zoo Ranger. Said, 'what good is a one-armed ranger that can't even shot?' You can see the poor bloke in the Sahara District, drinking away his troubles. Stumbling around all drunk through the streets."

From outside came a loud string of gunfire. Stu and Mike hurry out of Mike's store to see what was all the commotion. Sheriff Cliff Bogo doesn't rush but follows behind. Each massive step of his boots making a loud _"thud"_ noise on the rustic wooden floor.

Outside, the gunfire grew louder and drawing nearer. The loud commotion had Bruce on the fritz, kicking left and right and shaking his head wild in every direction. Stu grabs Bruce's reins in hopes of calming down the old Stallion.

Up ahead, a raccoon came running towards their direction. The raccoon wore no shoes wearing sun-bleached and tattered clothes. Galloping behind frightened raccoon was a posse of mammals on horseback. Leading the ravage group was a hog wearing a blue scarf, riding on the back of a brown horse. The hog raises his six-iron, aiming at the scared and running raccoon, and open fires.

The poor raccoon is hit, stumbles, but does not fall. The coon continues running or, instead, now limping as fast away as he can. His left leg was now drenching blood and leaving wet red footprints on the cobblestone street.

The hog riding the brown horse was quick to catch up. Stu watches as he closes in now, seeming that he would trample the raccoon. Instead, the hog takes aim and fires. This time the shot pierces the raccoon's back and exits out the front of his gut. When the bullet exited out the front and followed by a stream of blood, the raccoon falls, dead, into a pool of his blood. The hog slows his horse and turns back around to watch.

The rest of the posse catches up. Though very unnecessary, except to play at one's blood lust, the posse of mammals shoot down at the already dead raccoon. Their horses circle the body as they continue firing. They must have added another twelve bullets into the raccoon's back. A small cloud of gun powder smoke s over the dead raccoon as the riders circled the corpse.

Carnage was what Stu saw before his eyes. A pure act of carnage. "Aren't you going do, something?" Stu asks Sheriff Bogo in bewilderment. How could he stand there and watch at what was happening, all the while taking sips of his coffee?

"What is it exactly you would like for me to do?" asked Cliff. "Would you like me to save the dead raccoon laying in a pool of his blood? Would like me to stop the maniacs, riding their horses and firing their guns with wild intent?" Would you like me to arrest someone? If so, who should it be?" Sheriff Cliff piped. He took another slug of his coffee. "You see those blue scarfs they wear? Each one has a special badge, given to them by the Assistant Mayor."

Stu looked. What he said was true. Each one of the mammals on horseback, circling and firing down at the raccoon, wore a blue scarf. Each mammal wore the sash differently. Some wore the blue veil as a bandanna, or as a belt, or as a plain scarf.

The hog on his brown horse, trouts up between the dead raccoon and the three spectators at Mike's Trading Goods. The hog dismounts from his steed. He wore brown leather chaps with fray on the sides. A white button-up shirt and a thin brown leather hid vest. He wore a brown floppy hat that looked all but torn to pieces. The hog wore his blue scarf around his neck, which seemed to make the hog sweat even more. Pinned on the blue veil was an individual looking badge reading: "RANGER."

"Sheriff," spouted the hog. "Always good to see you." The Sheriff didn't give any warm, welcoming back to the swine. He kept his tin cup of coffee up to the large scar on his lip.

"Mind explaining what you and your boys are up to?" asks the Sheriff.

"Why. It appears we are doing your job, Sheriff." The hog says, holding his hands to his hips, sticking out his chest and smiling with glee as he spoke.

"Don't seem to recall anywhere in my job description to shoot down defenseless mammals in the middle of a public street."

"Ha," the hog laughs. "Shows what you know. The coon was a thief. One of the boys claims to have seen him swipe a couple of loaves of bread from the baker."

"Did he see proof of this? And where are these loaves of bread now?"

"Dropped them once he saw us coming for him."

"So why even bother?" asked the Sheriff. "You ran down a young bread thief and decided to use a swift justice system, and kill the boy?"

"Principal of the matter," the hog said, spitting his words with annoyance and hatred to the Sheriff. "Needed to be made an example of that one. Don't believe any mammal is going to be stealing bread without a second thought, now. One of the reasons you soon won't have a job anymore, Sheriff. Too soft on the corrupt. That's why the Assistant Mayor has given us, Ranger statuses. Now we can patrol each one of the districts, in and out of Zootopia. To stop crime before it happens."

The hog grabs a coil of rope from the saddle on his horse. The other rangers have had their fun with the dead raccoon. Steadying their horses and holstering their side irons. The hog wraps the rope around one of the legs of the raccoon. He hitched the other end of the lasso to his saddle, which he then mounted. With a swift kick to his horse's hind, the hog gallops off down the cobbled street of Savana Central. He drags behind him, the corpse of the dead raccoon, leaving a blood-soaked trail down the cobbled stone street. Women try covering the eyes of their children and save their innocence. The rest of the hog's horrid gang follows suit.

"Disgrace," said the Sheriff. "Embarrassment to the whole damn city. Zoo Rangers, what a joke. A made-up position from the Assistant Mayor."

"Sheriff," said Stu. "I know there's not much I can do, but I do know some scriptures."

"Rancher and a preacher," the Sheriff says, looking down on the rabbit. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not a preacher," Stu corrected. "But one scripture states: 'And there will be a fierce storm to come. One that will rain and cleanse the city pure. Those who wish to be pure shall be pure, as well. As that which is corrupt will be swept away in the fast flood of rivers.'"

"No offense, Mr. Preaching Rancher."

"Stu."

"Don't care." Sheriff Cliff said. "But, the only type of rain that's going to cleanse this city is a rain of fire and lead." The Sheriff tosses what's left in his cup out on to the street and places the tin cup upside down on a post outside Mike's shop. "Thanks for the coffee Mike," he says before leaving onto the city streets.

Like the Sheriff, Stu heads out of the shop and the city of Zootopia itself. After giving his farewells to Mike. He made all the earnings he could from the city that has grown.

* * *

Stu and his workhorse Bruce heading down the roads toward Bunny Burrow. It might be possible to be home before the sun's last light on the third day. A path that Stu and his stead Bruce have been down more than a dozen times.

They made a slow pace throughout the night. He was leading by the gas lamp light that hung on his carriage. When the second day came, Stu stops the wagon for Bruce to rest, and for him to eat something.

From a small burlap bag where Stu keeps his supply of food, he grabs an apple. The apple shinned red and was wet from the morning dew. Stu dries the apple on his jacket shoulder and with his carving knife, slices the apple in two. The first half, Stu offers to Bruce, who gobbles the apple half into his mouth. White foam and saliva splatting everywhere out of the horse's mouth. Stu slices his half, again down the middle, scooping out the core and plops the apple slice in his mouth. He puts the other half back into his pocket.

Stu sheaths his blade back into the center of his belt and bites down into one of his apple halves. Stu took pleasure in biting into the white inners and tasting the white citrus moister the apple contained, which made a loud _"chomp"_ sound as he chewed. Stu stops chewing when he bits down on something hard — not that of rock but one of the apple's seeds. Stu turns his head and spits the seed as far as he can. He watches as the seed flies out his mouth and lands in the soft grass.

 _Perhaps_ , Stu thought. _If mother nature decides to be kind, then the next time he travels this way, there will be a beautiful apple tree growing._ The thought grew depressing, looking back at Bruce, and thinking of himself. He's not that young anymore, and a next time might never come. Stu can't remember the last time he ever was young after Bonnie gave birth to Judy. _A mammal that denies the demise of time denies himself the days to dawn back on, and notice the great things life has offered_.

He pats Bruce down his long horse neck. The hair tips on Bruce's mane were white with age. Wrinkles on his snout were crusty, wet, and sagging down. The horse's eyes seem to be fading. He could no longer see as well as he once did. Thinking about reminds Stu that his eyesight is not what it use to be. He hates it when trying to read newsletters, and he must first ask one of his daughters for his spectacles actually to see the damn printed words.

"Bruce," said Stu. "My old friend. We are getting too old to do this."

Bruce puts his head against Stu's forehead. Stu always liked believing that he and Bruce had a unique way of communicating with each other. Stu strokes the brown and white spots of fur on Bruce.

Stu climbs back on top of the wagon and settles himself on the wooden seat. As always, his 1860 Henry rifle perched next to him in the carriage. Grabbing the reins harnessed to Bruce, Stu makes a quick whip-like action to get Bruce to start moving forward. They traveled the road throughout the day.

Around noon, when the sun was high in the sky. The area was beautiful to see. Stu takes in all the scenery, the deep treed woods to his right, to his left, a paster of flowers and tall grass that slopes upward to a rocky cliffside. Up ahead was a large pine tree that laid across the road. It wasn't there when he came through this area to get to Zootopia.

Stu had no choice but to bring the carriage to a halt. Stu's eyes the fallen tree, following it down to its base. The tree's base had no broken or cracked splinters of wood that one would see from rot to cause a tree to fall. Instead, the bottom of the tree had been cut clean with strikes from an ax.

"Hello, there!" came a voice from behind one of the trees. A wide smiling jackal steps out behind a tree. The jackal wore a white cotton shirt and black vest. His gray Slouch hat, which matched his pants, concealed his eyes from Stu. His Navy blue jacket draped over himself. "Hello, there." the jackal said again, waving at Stu.

Instead of answering back, Stu lets the reins from Bruce fall and puts a loose grip on his Henry rifle.

"Can you help me?" asked the jackal.

"In what need of help do you seek?"

"Well, see, we've been traveling for quite a while now-"

After saying we, another mammal stepped out into the clearing. The jackal looks over his shoulder. A thin shaking coyote steps out from behind one of the other trees. He wore an old southern military uniform, ragged and torn. The coyote didn't seem too well. Malnourished, and his right eye lost of all sight. Stu could tell by the way it was milk-white, like a marble.

Stu watches the jackal and coyote approach the wagon with small, simple steps. The closer they got, the tighter the grip Stu had on his Henry rifle.

"Howdy, Sir," the coyote said. His voice sounding "crackled" as if he had a loose grip on the English language. He squinted his eyes up at Stu.

"As I was saying," said the jackal. "We've been traveling to Zootopia. The hope of finding work and fine living. But our camp became ransacked by a pack of southern hemisphere lamas. Crazy, it was. So we were hoping you could provide food and some money so we can make it to the city." The two creatures move in closer.

"I'm sorry," Stu says. "Any money I have is to help provide for my family, and what food I have is to help me make it home to them." A snap of a tree branch comes from the thick tree woods. Looking at the woods, Stu could swear that the trees were moving. Turning back, the jackal and coyote were much closer. The coyote stood in front of Bruce, giving the horse a dumbfounded look and a goofy smile like it was a creature he had never laid his left eye on before.

"I understand that, sir. But, the good book tells that those in good grace, offer others what he can."

Stu's rabbit ear twitches at the sound of more branches snapping in the woods and the rustle of fallen leaves on the forest floor.

"The good book also frowns upon those that lie and steal," declares Stu. The jackal does not change his expression. The jackal still looking like he's done no wrong. "I can hear your merry band waiting in the woods. Probably that same pack of southern hemisphere lamas that raided your camp? Were they to scare me into believing you and give in to your demands?"

The jackal stood there for a second before giving a broad smile to Stu. The jackal shows all of his canine fangs, as he smiles. He "chuckles" loud with laughter. The jackal claps his hands together for Stu being smart. The jackal gives a loud howler in excitement.

"You, Sir," said the jackal, pointing up at Stu. "You are the last mammal I would ever hope of playing cards with, my good sir. You saw through my bluff, but kept a strong face on yourself."

"You don't seem to be one to play fair, at anything," said Stu.

"Once again, you have me pegged." The jackal puts two fingers to his mouth and gives a loud high pitch whistle. From the woods emerge a pack of lamps, all wearing thick black fur coats. Four of the lamas rode on horseback and circle Stu and his wagon. Several other lamas walk out of the woods and take position around Stu's carriage. From the back of the jackal's belt, he pulls out an old Colt Walker. Stu could see the horrible upkeep on the revolver, spotting parts of rust.

Looking around, the pack of lamas takes their positions. The lama with the army certified musket stands in line with two other lamas on horseback, both brandishing flintlock pistols. The last lama on horse took the rear of the carriage. He didn't brandish any weapon, or at least Stu didn't see him holding one, but he was close enough to jump on Stu's wagon and make an attack. The rest of the lamas that walked on foot held very simplistic weapons. Such as handling army issued muskets or carrying lumberjack axes, hatches, or Bowie knifes. _Scavengers_ , Stu thought. _That's what they are, scavengers — robbing those that cross their path_.

They had minimal firepower when it came to robbing a stagecoach. The only one with any firepower was the jackal and the old Colt Walker he held. But, the numbers were in their favor and surrounding his wagon. The situation, looking all too grim and risky to Stu.

"He's a real fine horse you got here," said the coyote with the marble eye. He reaches out to pet Bruce on the forehead. Bruce reacts by pulling his head back and wanting to stay out of the coyote's grasp. The coyote snatches the reins and jerks Bruce's head down. He pats Bruce, from his head to his long neck and mane.

"He's real pretty," coyote says with broken English. The coyote digs into the pocket of his gray ragged military jacket. From his pocket, he pulls out a muddy Dragoon revolver. He cocks back the hammer and puts the barrel point-blank against the side of Bruce's head. "He probably won't look too pretty with a bullet hole on the side of his face, and his brains pushed out one side of his head."

Bruce tries jerking his head away, but can't break the coyote's grasp on him. Jumping to his feet with the rifle in hand, Stu aims down at the scrawny coyote. The three lamas on horseback, raise their black powder weapons and cock the hammers back. The other lamas raise whatever lack of weapons they have as well, ready to climb up and take Stu by force.

"Hold up now," said the jackal. "Let's not let things escalate to a blood bath. My associate was only making a point. No one wants to see you bloody and dead. I have a better option for you. You said you were bringing money home for your family? Let me ask you, won't your family rather see you back home safe and sound? So how about this? You let us keep the money and that nice rifle in your hands, and we let you go on your merry way."

Thinking of the jackal's words hit hard. What the jackal said was true. Stu outnumbered and surrounded. The thought of Bonnie, Judy, and the rest of his children mourning over his dead body being too grim of an image. Stu lowers his rifle. The jackal gives a broad smile at the sight.

The one lama on horseback from behind him hops onto his wagon and approaches Stu. He feels the point of the lama's large knife against his back — the lama's hand patting Stu's body until he found what he wanted. Stu's billfold, holding everything he earned selling to shop keeps in Zootopia. The lama throws the wallet over to his lama comrades. Other lamas were rifling through his belongs, looking for food, clothes, anything.

"I hate relieving you of such a great rifle, but do know it will be in goods hands." the jackal said. Stu loosens his grip on the Henry Rifle. The lama behind him grabs the barrel, to release it from Stu's hands.

The marble eye coyote unhooks Bruce from the wagon and pulls hard on Bruce's reins, wanting to force him forward. Bruce shakes his head with wild disagreement. Bruce stomps his hooves to the ground, refusing to obey any of the coyote's demands.

"You know," the coyote states out loud. "If this colt won't comply to be ridden, the horse will at least make a nice meal for us for the next few nights. I mean, the spic lamas might not be too interested in the taste, but good eating for us."

Hearing those words ignited a fuse in Stu. His earnings and rifle did not hold much value over him. Seeing Bonnie and the kits again were worth more to him. But now they are taking his horse, most likely to be killed, and strand him out in the middle of nowhere. In other words, they were leaving him to die. It was still another good two or three days to get back to Bunny Burrow. But, on foot with no food or water, and everything needs to survive, the harsh elements, reaching his destination, alive or dead, were uncertain. Or kill him on the spot. What difference would it make? Stu could not allow such despicable actions.

Before the Henry rifle slips out of his hands, Stu grabs hold of the gun, strong and firm. Stu rams the rifle backward as hard as he can, hitting the lama square in his chest with the butt of the gun. Stu swings up and aims at the marble eye coyote holding Bruce. With a loud _"crackle"_ of fire erupting from the barrel, Stu fires at the coyote. A nickel-size hole explodes from the coyote's arm, sending a spray of blood towards everything on his right side. The powerful shot knocks the coyote to the ground.

The coyote lets go of Bruce's reins as he's knocked on his back. Bruce, seizing the opportunity gallops off to safety. Stu's action is so sudden; it takes the gang of highway mammal thieves a second or two to react to what had just happened.

Stu cocks the lever of the Henry rifle. The ejected bullet cartridge flys out of the chamber as a new one inserted. Stu does not stop to hesitate. In sequence, Stu turns and aims at the lamas on horseback and open fires. The first one of the lamas to fall was the one closest, holding tight to the army musket. Stu's bullet hits him square in the chest, sending a large spray of blood forward. The powerful shot forces the lama into a back roll off his horse and hitting the ground face down, dead.

Next was the middle lama. The lama raises his flintlock pistol. But, Stu, with his speed, fires two shots. Bullet cartridges were flying out of the rifle like skipping stones. The first piercing right under the lama's lung, and the second piercing through the left side of his chest. Each shot sends a spray of blood out the bullet holes. The lama was able to fire off his pistol, which does not even come near to hitting Stu.

The third lama on horseback decides to take action. Stu watches as he gallops his way out of the range of Stu's rifle. Stu fires off one shot, but only hits the lama's right elbow. A small stream of blood spits out the wound, drenching the horse's hide red.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stu can make out the jackal moving. Stu swings the smoking barrel back at the jackal on the ground. Stu sees that the jackal has his weapon already raised, and fires. Stu, with his rabbit ears, can hear the jackal's bullet whiz through the air. Hot metal piercing Stu's right shoulder with a punch. Warmblood drenching Stu's neck and face. With his left hand, Stu clamps down on the wound.

From behind him comes the feeling of a sharp and heavy blade, swiping across his back. The knife is so severe, Stu feels it slice through not only his jacket and shirt but his flesh as well. Turning around, it was the lama that first took his billfold and that Stu rammed the butt of the rifle into. He almost forgot about him — the lama charges with his knife. Not to hack and slash, but to plunge his blade deep into Stu's belly. Stu raises the rifle's barrel and blind fires at the charging lama. The gun blasts the lama in the face, sending chunks of bone and brain everywhere. Some of the lama's face splatters onto Stu.

The scavengers blessed to be carrying flintlock rifles, fire off in every direction. The bandits became engulfed in a mist of gunpowder smoke, making things hard to aim and shot the Henry rifle. Stu, still clamping onto the bullet wound between his neck and shoulder, with one hand cocks the lever on the gun and blindly fires in the cloud of gun powder. The pellet bullets from the muskets hit and bounce off his wagon. The closet bullet that came to harm him was a stray bullet clipping off a piece of his right ear.

Hot metal pierces The back of Stu's right shoulder and exits out the front. Only after the bullet ejects out the front does Stu hears the sound of the jackal's gunfire. Stu turns back to face his biggest threat, the jackal.

Turning around, and before Stu can raise his rifle, he feels a small projectile fire out and burns through his right leg. Looking down, Stu sees that one of the lamas got lucky and fired a shot piercing one side of his leg and exiting out the other end. The new wound causes Stu to lose his footing and fall off the wagon. Stu's leg, the one with the fresh bullet hole, hits the ground, his foot twists and makes a loud _"pop"_ sound. His foot does not break but instead dislocates. Stu face plants into the ground.

Stu lays there, in pain, and not knowing what to do? His dense and quick breath kicks up small clouds of dust. He can feel the handle of his small carving knife pressing down on his hand. Out the corner of his eye, the one that wasn't against the ground, he could see the jackal's shadow cast over him. The jackal pokes and probes at Stu's body with the barrel of his Walker. He slides the barrel under Stu's hat and flips it off of him. _Play dead_ , Stu Thought. _Play dead. It's the only way you'll make it out alive. The slightest movement and the jackal will finish him off with a bullet to the back of his head_.

"Goddamn," said the jackal, chuckling. "You poor, dumb, bunny. I will say, you put up a hell of a fight," said the jackal.

The jackal makes a high pitch whistle and shouts out a phrase in Spanish. Everything goes quiet. He does hear the other mammals go back to rummaging his wagon, hoping to find something useful. Stu hears the jackal squat down. His joints _"popping"_ as he crotches over Stu. The shadow of the Jackal is Stu's only way of seeing what was happening.

Out the corner of Stu's eye, he can see the old Colt Walker revolver in the jackal's hand. Stu grabs the handle of his carving knife. The jackal reaches over and grabs the Henry rifle, prying it from Stu's hands. "Damn. That is a fine looking rifle." The jackal raises the rifle to shine into the heavy sunlight above. Trying not to make any sudden moves, and reveal to the jackal he still breathes, Stu slides the small carving knife out of its sheath. Stu stares at the Colt Walker in the jackal's hand. He only had one chance to gain the upper hand on the jackal.

Stu's body, bleeding in several different places; he would not have the strength to fight if he was not careful. Stu will admit he was scared. Never has he been in such a position before. Thoughts of Bonnie, Judy, and the kits flash in his head. He had to make his move.

Not wanting to think on it a second longer, Stu rolls over on his side. His small unsheathed carving knife, shining in the sun, grasping the handle in his hand. Stu plunges the blade through the jackal's hand, holding the revolver. The jackal screams in pain, dropping the Colt Walker, and throwing his hand back as a knee jerk reaction. Seeing the revolver fall to the ground, Stu reaches to swipe it up and turns his body up at the jackal.

The jackal still examining his damaged bleeding hand, now with a knife stabbed through his hand. Stu reaches over, grabbing the gun from the ground. He cocks the hammer back and aims the barrel up at the jackal. When the jackal looks down at Stu, he only sees the barrel of his revolver. Stu fires, blasting the jackal between the eyes, and the back of his head explodes. Chunks of red and pink goo flying outward. The jackal slumps over Stu, dead.

Stu, wishing only for a moment of breath, is denied, as a lama turns the corner of the wagon brandishing a lumberjack's ax. The lama, seeing Stu on the ground, raises his ax and charges toward Stu, ready to bring it down upon the rabbit's head. Still, with the Colt Walker in his hands, Stu aims and fires. It takes three shots to the center mass to take the lama down. The lama's thick black fur coat conceals any spill of blood. As the lama falls to the ground, so does his lumberjack ax. The sharp ax blade lands next to Stu's head.

Flipping the jackal over and grabbing the Henry rifle back into his hands where it belongs. Stu starts crawling away from all the carnage. It felt as though weights chained to his body. Crawling away was his only option at this point.

He crawls up to the field of flowers. He stops crawling when two black boots step in front of him. Stu looks up. Standing over him was the coyote with the marble eye. He holds his right arm with a hard clasp from his left hand. The right sleeve of his faded gray uniform now soaked red with his blood.

"You dumb son of a bitch," said the coyote, looking at him with his white marble eye. "All you had to do was be still, dumb, and cooperative." He raises his revolver at Stu's head. "I hope you made good words last seeing your family because they're the last you ever said to them."

The coyote cocks back the hammer on his Dragoon revolver. The revolver's barrel raises to Stu's head. Stu closes his eyes, ready to accept the bullet to pass through his head and end his time in this world. _Bonnie, Judy, and his other kits, please know I love them all and will stay in my heart till its last beat_. Stu thinks.

Before the coyote pulls the trigger, a loud horse whine makes his lookup. Out of nowhere, Bruce charges at the coyote with a big headbutt, knocking the coyote onto his back. Bruce raises his massive front hooves high in the air. The coyote, shoots off one shot, hitting Bruce in the neck before Bruce slams his feet down on to the coyote's chest. The coyote's ribs make a loud _"crack"_ sound as he coughs up a large glob of blood. Bruce raises his front hooves again, slamming down on the coyote's stomach. Once more, Bruce raises his front feet into the air. The coyote fires off another shot with his revolver: this time, the bullet piercing into Bruce's abdomen, right under his ribs. Bruce gives a loud whine of pain. Bruce, slamming his hoofs down directly onto the coyote's face. The coyote's skull cracks open and flattens onto the ground.

Bruce badly hurt and bleeding, gallops off. Taking in a breath of air Stu tries to rise off the ground to follow after Bruce. The bandits, busy devouring all that was left of his wagon and escaping into the thick woods.

Stu, with a bullet hole in his back and another in his leg, uses his rifle as a crutch. Hopping, wobbling, and dragging his foot behind him to catch up with Bruce. Looking up passed the field, and next to the rocky uprising to the cliffs was a large object on the ground, not moving.

 _No, no. Please, no_. Thought Stu, staggering to the large object on the ground. Sweat pours down his face, and his mouth was dry with every breath. His tongue felt like sandpaper against his throat. Looking down, wiping sweat from his eyes, he sees Bruce laying on the ground. His breathing was fast and heavy. Stu, watching his horse's chest rise and fall. The pool of blood he laid on, growing larger.

"Aww, God. Bruce," Stu said. "I'm sorry." Tears were rolling down his face as he watches the trusty stead Stu's had for as long as he can remember. Remembering the day he got Bruce, he was the only left in the pin to buy that day. Remembering all the times he gave the kits rides on his back. Bruce, his trusty steed, now dying.

Stu squats down and lays his body across Bruce. He feels the rise and fall of Bruce's chest as he inhales and exhales, making small _"whimpering"_ sounds. Stu props the Henry rifle to his side. There was nothing he could do to save Bruce, but perhaps, if he strokes Bruce's soft fur would help keep him calm and not feel so scared. Stroking Bruce's neck, Stu feels his hand become drenched in blood. Stu's tears, soaked up by Bruce's coat. Bruce's chest rises and slowly lowers for the last time. His eyes were still, and his lungs no longer holding air.

 _They killed him_ , thought Stu with tears. _The thieving bastards killed him_. _As if he was nothing_. J _ust a regular stable horse, nothing extraordinary_. The thought made Stu cry even more.

Stu stayed with Bruce for a little while longer. Ten minutes at the least. If it were up to him, he would sleep next to Bruce till the following day, but Stu couldn't stay where he was, too exposed. Stu could see up the rocky slope was a solid rock nook to hide him from any of the bandits still lurking around. It would also help keep him out of the sun's rays. But first, he had to tend to the wounds bleeding him dry.

Taking off his jacket and tearing the sleeves of his stained button-up shirt. He tore his sleeves into more strips of cloth. He made a tight bandage around his bullet hole leg. He rolled up one piece of fabric as small and tight as he could. He pushes as much as he can of the bandage into the bullet hole in his back.

The hardest part was next. Stu keeps his leg straight by tying two sturdy tree limbs on each side of his leg. He sticks his dislocated foot between two sturdy rocks. Making sure none of the stones were loose. Biting down hard on the rim of his hat and takes in a deep breath. Stu makes a quick twist with his body as he heard the loud _"pop"_ of his foot setting back into place. Stu cries in pain, and bites down hard into his hat, leaving teeth marks on the rim.

Crawling up and settling into the rocky nook, Stu tries catching his breath. Nothing more to do, but stay put and stay alive.

The days pass. This morning Stu shakes in the cold morning mist. It wasn't the worst morning he's woken up to find.

One morning, Stu woke to a crow peeking at his bullet hole leg. He gave the bird a hefty kick sending it flying back. _I'm not dead yet_ , Stu thought. _Is there not enough rotting corpses below to feast upon. Or is he already dead, and only the birds see it, and fresh dead meat is the best_.

Since getting stuck in the rocky nook, Stu did everything he could do to survive. The apple slice was the only food he had and tried savoring it as much as he can, sucking the sweet crispy nectar out of the apple's inner's, and chewing each bite as long as he could.

Stu also reverted to sucking the wet dew on the grass leaves close to him. The hot sun has caused his lips and face to blister and crack. The inside of his ears burns red. He paces his breathing in the heat, hoping to not pass out from dehydration so quick. Trying hard to keep his wounds clean as best he can. And yet, the nights, with no fire, felt freezing, leaving Stu to shudder and shake in his jacket.

This morning was as cold, and the mist was thick. It blankets the sun, making it look like a silver dollar in the sky. It was a small comfort.

The loud blast of a shotgun jerks Stu up, not knowing who it was or what they wanted. Could they be more highway thieves? Or, could they be his saving grace. Staying here would mean certain death. He had to see and hope for the best.

Stu hears another loud blast from the shotgun, closer this time. Stu tries to cry out for them to hear. His voice was too dry and scratchy to shout anything. From his mouth came a painful moan.

He could hear footsteps in the mist. They seem to be coming his way. He heard a familiar voice cry out, "Pa!" _Judy? Is that the angel voice of his daughter? Has she traveled so far to find him?_ Stu hears her call out again. He lets another painfull moan scream out. From the thick mist, he saw a dark shadowy figure. Stu, gripping his Henry rifle tight as his vision was fading.

He could feel himself about to pass out. Stu closes his eyes and whimpers out through his cracked and blistered lips. "Judy..."


End file.
